Call Sign
by ShaViva
Summary: Ever wondered what Major Evan Lorne's call sign is, and more importantly the story behind it? Let me offer you just one possibility! This is pure Lorne ... set in 1997 when Lorne is 26 and a Captain. It's an AU background story inspired by Jetstream.
1. Rookie again

**Call Sign**

Author: ShaViva

Rating: T

Content Warning: Coarse language mostly

Season: Mostly set in 1997, six years before Enemy Mine.

Summary: Ever wondered what Major Evan Lorne's call sign is, and more importantly the story behind it? Let me offer you just one possibility! This is pure Lorne ... an AU look at just one small slice of his background.

Classifications: General

Pairings: none

Spoilers for: None ... well, spoilers for the Canadian TV documentary series Jetstream but I'm guessing that won't be an issue for most readers.

Acknowledgements: Wikipedia used for information about various fighter wings, AFB's, jet specs, and training Lorne would have had to do to be who he is when we're introduced to him. I used _lots_ of information gleaned from the Discovery Channel program Jetstream (excellent documentary, narrated by Kavan Smith). See www dot discoverychannel dot ca / jetstream / if you want to find out more.

Disclaimer: The Stargate characters, storylines, etc aren't mine. I am unfortunately not associated in any way with the creators, owners, or producers of Stargate or any of its media franchises – if I was we'd be seeing them on TV for some time to come *sighs dejectedly*. All publicly recognizable characters, settings, equipment, etc are the property of whoever owns them. The original characters and plot and anything else I made up are the property of me, the author. No copyright infringement is intended.

Copyright (c) 2009 ShaViva

oOo

**Authors Note:**

I was talking with a friend about my RPG version of Lorne and the idea of a call sign came up. We decided on something cool but in reality call signs are chosen _for_ you – you don't get to pick them – and more often than not they relate to things you might not necessarily want to immortalise. Pilots have two choices – they either love their call sign which is great because they're stuck with it for the rest of their careers. Or they hate it ... which is great because they're stuck with it for the rest of their careers!

This is intended to be a background piece for my other story, Forlorn Hope ... because I kept needing details on Lorne's background and having to make them up on the spot. After watching Jetstream (very inspiring – these people are seriously impressive) putting Lorne into that training program and ultimately giving him a call sign of his own was just too attractive and alluring to pass up.

I've worked out an entire broad military history for Lorne which includes details on which wings he was assigned to - some of that will be revealed in this story and the rest will be part of Forlorn Hope. I had to make lots of decisions about his background - they never really even say what kind of air force person he is but the fact he flies the F-302 with apparent ease AND leads a squadron of pilots in First Strike makes me think he's a pilot so that's what I've gone with, despite the whole geology thing from Enemy Mine.

Lastly, I'm aware that F-18s are predominantly US Navy and usually flown off the back of aircraft carriers – I'm claiming writer's license to make a few tweaks on the 'what's likely' metre so I can put Lorne into the F-18 training program and make it seem reasonable. And yes I could have done the same thing with an F-16 but as far as I know there isn't a documentary series about them to draw inspiration and lots of detailed information from!!! Chapter titles loosely based on the episode titles from Jetstream.

The story starts in February of 1997 when our wonderful Evan Lorne is 26 years old and a Captain working out of Edwards AFB in California. I hope you enjoy!

oOo

**Chapter 1: Rookie again**

"Captain Lorne," the voice on the other end of the phone was unfamiliar and all business. Evan sat up abruptly, dropping his feet from the table where he'd been resting them back to the floor. "This is Major Baker from 410 Squadron, Canadian Forces Base Cold Lake Alberta. There's a slot with your name on it in the next CF-18 training program ... if you want it."

"Me Sir?" For a moment Evan was speechless. He'd put his name in for the International Officer Exchange program but hadn't expected it to result in an offer like this one.

"You're a pilot aren't you?" Major Baker asked, his tone of faint amusement suggesting this wasn't the first time he'd got stunned disbelief from the other end of the phone.

"Yes Sir ... I am Sir," Lorne replied emphatically. "And yes Sir – I want it." He didn't have to think about it ... the chance to fly something new was a no brainer as far as he was concerned, no matter how it had come about. And the chance to fly a Hornet - the one jet above all others that he _really_ wanted to fly - made his decision an instant one.

"You had me worried there for a minute Captain," the Major said. "Never had anyone say no before." He then went on to explain that Evan was being transferred on Officer exchange – before he could take a place on a Canadian fighter wing he had to do the F-18 training – hence his place on the next program. Major Baker paused for a moment and then continued briskly. "The paperwork's on its way ... you'll report for duty in two weeks."

"Thank you Sir," Evan said, unable to keep the grin plastered all over his face from leaking into his voice.

"Don't thank me just yet son," Major Baker replied. "You've just signed up for one of the toughest training programs around ... and you'll be cursing me before you get to the end."

"Maybe Sir ... but I _will_ get to the end," Evan said confidently, understanding what the other man was trying to tell him but sure that he would make it through.

"See that you do," Major Baker said. "We'll see you in two weeks Captain."

"Yes Sir," Lorne replied before hanging up the phone in a daze. "I'm going to Canada," he said aloud. It wasn't exactly what he'd been thinking of as 'International' but he'd take it just the same.

oOo

Two weeks later Lorne arrived in Alberta, stepping off the plane and taking a transport straight to the base. The climate change was going to be an adjustment, especially after his year at Edwards air force base in Mojave California. If there was ever a greater contrast between base assignments, Evan would struggle to imagine it. On the surface the two bases looked remarkably similar – there were only so many ways to set out a system of runways and support buildings in a big open space. The road map was where the similarities stopped though. He'd gone from hot, dusty and just plain brown to cold, lush and green. Shivering slightly, Lorne pulled his jacket closer ... _bloody_ cold in fact.

Catching sight of the home hangar for his new squadron ... the 410, also known as the Cougars, Evan grinned. Flying something new was exciting and he was keen to get started.

Looking around for directions to the main office with the intention of officially reporting for duty, Evan immediately spotted the row of CF-18 Hornets parked on the tarmac some distance away ... everything was quieter than he'd been expecting, until sound reached him, coming in fast from a distance.

The roar of a plane preparing to land drew his attention across to the nearest runway. Even from this distance it was _loud_ but Evan didn't cover his ears. Instead, he watched, pulse beating a little harder than usual, as the pilot guided the jet back to Earth, the wheels slamming down on the tarmac harder than Evan was used to.

It was a thing of beauty ... grace and power balanced through the magic of technology and engineering ... and _he_ was going to fly one.

"Captain Lorne?" a voice called Evan back to the task at hand.

"Yes Sir," Lorne gave a crisp salute, his eye's noting the name stitched above the other man's shirt pocket ... Major Thomas Baker. "Sorry Sir," he said. Being distracted from reporting in on time probably wasn't the best first impression he could have created.

"Understandable Captain," Baker replied lightly, casting his own eyes to where the F-18 was taxiing to a stop for post flight checks. Turning back to Evan he nodded towards one of the buildings. "The rest of your class are already assembled ... you best join them."

"Yes Sir," Evan gave another smart salute before turning in the direction the Major had indicated. He'd known flying in that the rest of his class would already have been ferried in and settled at the base. His duties at Edwards prior to being dismissed had him working up to the very last minute and this really had been the earliest he could get there.

Signing in at the front desk Lorne followed the directions given and slipped into the back of a small class room just before the instructor began speaking. There were two rows of students but something about their postures and general demeanour said the six at the front were the rest of his class – the rookies.

"Good morning," the instructor said. "I'm Major Nathan Collins. Welcome to Fighter town, and welcome to the F-18."

oOo

The first week passed in a blur of training sessions and studying. They called it ground school – back to basics. And they had to get through it all before they'd be allowed anywhere near an actual F-18 ... in fact it would be weeks before they'd get their first chance to fly one.

Getting to know his classmates happened without effort as they spent hours and hours in close proximity – lessons and off time all spent focusing on the machine they were there to conquer.

Captain Marcus Price, Lieutenant Cade Boston, Lieutenant Neil Somerton, Captain Andrew Rider, Captain John Jones and Captain Paul Merlin ... the men who began as six faceless names to Evan soon became his friends and comrades in arms. They helped each other study – testing knowledge, grilling on the emergency protocols they'd have to get 100 percent correct every test – and they ribbed each other mercilessly, targeting any sign of potential weakness as a way to blow off steam. Like the fact that Cade always blushed when they teased him about his poster boy good looks. Or how Neil was always just so damn happy, no matter how tired they all got.

The "highlight" of that first week was the almost 900 page manual on the F-18 they were handed and instructed to know from cover to cover. And not just know – understand and be able to apply to any given situation. They had a little over three weeks to learn it all – they'd be tested and if they didn't get a high enough mark they'd be out. The pressure was intense – hours spent hunched over their computers or flight manuals, taking notes and then rewriting them over and over again.

Lorne had an advantage because he'd flown a development version of the F-16 and in many ways it was comparable. But just because you could fly one plane didn't mean you could just jump into the cockpit of another. Hell, even guys who'd qualified to fly an F-18 still had to come back and refresh after they'd been out of action for more than a year. Major Collins had said it on the first day ... their previous experience counted for nothing. The F-18 was the first plane Evan had ever contemplated flying that was widely considered to be not completely stable ... and therefore potentially unpredictable. Every pilot wanting to fly one had to be fully prepared to react in every situation.

Lorne had been reduced back to junior officer status too, a point hammered home when his class was ordered to clean and reorganise the officers club during their first week – apparently something every class had to do. Evan wasn't an ego driven man – unassuming and quiet, he went about the business of following orders much as he always did and even enjoyed it a little when they got to the painting portion of the day.

"Man, if my Mom could see me now," he muttered as he welded a large paint brush and started on the skirting boards.

"She want more for you that to be a glorified tradesman?" Captain Andrew Rider – Drew - joked with an amused chuckle.

"Art teacher," Evan explained, giving just the barest details. It amused his family that he'd chosen a military way of life when he'd always been so intensely private within himself. The two didn't exactly go hand in hand but Lorne had learned over the years how to play the game.

"You paint then?" Drew asked, curious instead of teasing now.

"Used to," Evan revealed. "Weekends mostly. Had to give it up after graduation ... no time," Evan looked across at Drew with a modest grin, "which is a gift to the art world since I pretty much sucked at it."

"Let me guess ... you wanted to do jet portraits but none of them would stay still long enough," Drew suggested, still teasing.

"Something like that," Evan agreed, good natured. He'd made friends with all of their class but Andrew Rider and he had just clicked from the first day ... each teasing the other about the superiority of their own country and its military, its sporting teams, and anything else they possibly could.

"So your family didn't mind you going off and joining the air force?" Drew asked, this time more serious.

"I don't think mind is quite the right word," Evan answered the question thoughtfully. "My Mom probably wishes I'd been drawn to something a little less dangerous – something that would keep me close to home. But she understands ... and she always encouraged me to go for whatever I wanted." He stood and shifted position to the next section of skirting requiring painting and then squatted down again. "What about you?"

"My Dad is over the moon that I'm here – tells _everyone_ any chance he gets that his son's gonna be a fighter pilot," Drew said, a little embarrassed. "My Mom teases him about it but he says she's just as bad."

"That's great," Lorne smiled as he continued to paint.

"What about your Dad – is he bragging to anyone who'll listen?" Drew asked curiously.

"No," Evan said, the smile dropping from his face abruptly. "I ah – he never got to see me fly. He was killed when I was ten." The privacy fences had slammed down and his face was a careful mask of indifference. Thankfully Drew was sensitive enough to pick up on it and quickly moved the conversation to hockey and the relative merits of their respective teams.

oOo

The Human Centrifuge.

A machine of apparent torture designed to simulate what pulling g's was _really_ like. A machine to prove once and for all whether you had what it took to be a fighter pilot.

As the days drew nearer for their trip to Toronto to test in one it was the only thing anyone could talk about. What it would be like. Horror stories they'd each heard, whether they were true or not. All of it was hashed and rehashed over and over during every free period, even as they crammed for the Hornet operations test.

Lorne kept silent for most of it ... he hadn't shared much about his prior postings but that was about to change as one of them finally thought of the obvious question.

"Has anyone done the centrifuge before?" Neil Somerton asked.

Evan remained silent as one by one the others admitted that they hadn't.

"I've pulled 5-g's in a CF-104 Starfighter though," Marcus Price offered.

"What about you Evan?" It was Drew who noticed that Lorne hadn't actually answered the question.

"I've done it," Evan admitted reluctantly.

"You've been in the human centrifuge?" Neil asked, surprised, obviously not having expected anyone to actually say yes. "What was it like?"

"Have you ever been tackled to the ground and had someone sit on your chest?" Evan asked. "Because it's like that only imagine it's a giant ... a really huge and incredibly heavy giant sitting on you instead." Noting the dismayed looks, Lorne continued. "It's doable Neil," he said firmly. "There's no reason why all of us can't pass that test first time."

"How many g's you pull?" Drew asked.

"What, ever?" Evan stalled, trying to decide how much he should reveal. Drew nodded, everyone silent as they waited for Lorne to answer the question.

"Nine," he admitted finally. "But I had the g-suit on and it was only a few seconds."

"No way man!" Neil returned incredulously. "That's just ... no way!"

"You were at Edwards AFB before here, right?" John Jones, the oldest and their unofficial leader spoke up. "Don't they do test flights for like NASA and stuff?"

"Yeah," Evan grinned suddenly. "You know guys, I'd _like_ to tell you more but then I'd have to kill you all." Six pairs of eyes looked at him silently. "Classified," Lorne explained somewhat lamely when nobody laughed. "Ah ... joking. My last post was for NASA – at Dryden FRC ... high speed research. Had to take the plane to the limit to be doing my job properly. "

"NASA?" And suddenly everyone was looking at Evan with expressions that might have been awe.

"It's not as impressive as it sounds," Evan discounted, flushing slightly in embarrassment. "I wanted to be an astronaut so Edwards seemed like the place to be to get noticed."

"Did you apply for the Astronaut training program?" Drew asked.

"Yeah," Lorne admitted, shrugging as he added, "shortlisted but didn't quite make it. But hey, I haven't given up yet." Before anyone could ask more questions, Evan glanced around. "Enough from me ... I want to hear about you guys. Cade ... what were you doing before they invited you here?" He deliberately chose the shyest amongst them with a subtle reminder that they'd _all_ been chosen – that someone had seen _something_ worth developing in each of them.

Smiling, Cade Boston launched into speech, talking about his last post animatedly. That led to each of them sharing something of themselves and put Evan back into the shadows - just where he liked to be.

oOo

Over the following week, each of his classmates found a private moment to talk to Evan about the Human Centrifuge. None of them wanted to admit to their peers that they were worried about passing the most demanding of all the tests they'd have to do in it ... sustaining 15 seconds at 6-g's without going into g-LOC – gravity induced loss of consciousness ... but they all were. Having someone who'd been there and done it was too valuable a resource to pass up.

Patiently Evan took them all through it – what to expect, what had helped him get through it - putting their minds at ease as he countered all the rumours they'd heard. It was a nice complement to the formal training and guidance they all received once they were at DRDC Toronto.

After the introductory speeches, Captain Charles, the man in charge of the testing, called for volunteers to go first and Evan felt the weight of all eyes on him. They'd all feel better once someone had shown them that it _could_ be done.

"I'll do it," he said easily, not minding the less than subtle pressure.

They went in twos, Drew naturally falling into step beside him. "Now remember, this is doable," Drew coached with a faint grin, reminding Evan of his own words.

"Laugh it up," Evan said with a bland expression. "Just remember – you're next."

They put on their g-suits – specially designed with bladders running up the legs and across the stomach. In a real situation the bladders would inflate under high g's and force the blood to stay where it belonged, but for the test each trainee would have to go it alone without that assistance. Charles took them through a run down on what they needed to do, having each practice before judging them ready to proceed.

And then Evan was strapped into the chair inside a claustrophobia inducing unit mounted on the long arm that made up the guts of the machine. The large circular room, brightly lit and all white, was silent as Lorne waited for them to give him his cue.

"Launching AR6 for 15 in three ... two ... one ... mark."

Evan began his anti-g straining manoeuvres immediately, tensing his abdominals and his leg muscles while taking quick, short breaths. The pressure on his chest was intense ... the equivalent of half a tonne of weight pressing down on him. Breathing was difficult, the threat of g –LOC never far away.

But to Lorne it was familiar ... with a cool head and firm concentration he completed the 15 seconds with ease, coming down feeling tired and a little sore but overall happy to have set the right example.

"Your turn," he told Drew, slapping a hand to his shoulder as the two switched places.

oOo

By the end of the day they'd all completed the ultimate test, along with a number of others required for them to qualify to be fighter pilots. It was the first big hurdle and they'd leapt over it.

oOo

The human centrifuge might be the most dreaded test but it wasn't the only one ... in fact, pretty much every day at 410 squadron was about being tested in one way or another. Being tested, and trained so that life and death decisions could be made automatically. Having to think about it when the ground was coming towards you at frightening speed would be something that only happened once. There were no second chances.

Heading into week three, Lorne walked into the training room to see the pilot's seat for the F-18 taking centre stage. Ejecting wasn't something any pilot wanted to think about but it was a possibility they had to train for. Thankfully Lorne hadn't needed to eject since he'd first started flying planes with that capability and with any luck he never would. Because learning about the Martin-Baker ejector seat, hearing about it from someone who'd actually ejected for real, was an eye opener.

As Evan listened to the man speaking of being disoriented, of how quickly it all happened, his mind shifted to the past ... to the knock on the door and a strangers sad face telling them his father wasn't coming home. "_Don't go there_," he coached himself silently, pushing the past to the back of his mind where it belonged and refocussing on the instructor.

Being a fighter pilot meant flying the jet strapped into your seat tight - 4 straps for each leg, and 6 for the torso – while you literally sat on a rocket. If needed, the charge would shoot your seat clear of the cockpit while a second charge blew your restraints and released the parachute. It would all happen in two seconds and when you made it back to Earth the landing would be hard – _really_ hard.

That's if you were lucky ... if you were unlucky you'd have to parachute into water and there'd be no time to think about what should be done once you were down. Lorne spent a day in the pool training for just that scenario - being pulled backwards into the water and having to fight his way from the restraints within seconds while they continued to drag him along. That wasn't the end of it – he then had to escape from the suffocating hold of the parachute canopy itself before it pulled him under.

"Too cold for your Yankee blood?" Drew teased when Lorne dragged himself from the pool for what felt like the hundredth time, teeth chattering.

"Oh yeah," for once Evan didn't even try to pretend otherwise. "I hate the cold," he muttered as he dragged a towel around himself and towelled off.

"We're almost done," Drew said bracingly. "Then we can go warm up with a few drinks."

"I _am_ there," Lorne said feelingly, pulling his sweater over his head and then hunching into the nearest chair. California had never seemed so far away as it did that day.

oOo

Not everything being thrown at them was to be dreaded. Week three also saw them finally allowed inside the F-18 flight simulator. Evan had been looking forward to it since the day he'd set foot on the base. The cockpit of an F-18 might look like a confusing array of buttons, dials and displays but to him it was much more than that ... mastering every aspect, controlling 'the beast' was his ticket to the sky. He'd been there before, the planes he'd flown at Dryden FRC just as powerful and complex, but the added edge of instability gave the F-18 an extra allure.

When it was his turn all Lorne could think was that finally it was time to have some fun.

They threw every kind of emergency at him ... systems failures, tower overshoots, near misses. On the outside he was calm and controlled, giving nothing away as he dealt with every situation using a combination of what he'd learned about the F-18 and his prior experiences. Inside he was grinning ... it was the most fun he'd had since his last test flight at Dryden FRC and he wanted it to keep going. When it was over he left the simulator reluctantly, already looking forward to his next session.

"Well done Captain," the simulator operator told him, clearly impressed.

"I guess some of that prior experience does count after all," Evan commented easily.

Back in the trainees lounge, Lorne sat and listened quietly as the others talked about their own first sessions and all the mistakes they'd made.

"That's what it's all about," he finally commented when it seemed Cade in particular was beating himself up about not having got it right first time. "Make as many mistakes as it takes in that simulator and work out how to overcome them without having to think about it ... then you really will be prepared to fly the real version."

"Lorne's right," Jones agreed. "They have to see that we can handle the high pressure situations ... implies that we kind of have to make mistakes in the first place. I'd rather make them in the simulator than in the air."

"Man, I can't wait for that first flight," Cade said reverently.

Evan didn't say anything but inside he was thinking '_Hell yes!'_

oOo

Sitting in an exam room couldn't possibly be anyone's idea of a good time. Lorne took a seat for their first written test, thoughts focussed on what he needed to get it done. Everything was important ... a mark of 85 percent was required but their instructor had pointed out that rarely did they see marks below 95 percent – just to put the pressure on that much more.

And then there were the red pages ... dealing with critical emergencies that required an immediate response and what they were expected to do if one of them occurred ... they'd be tested on all of them and would have to give a word perfect reply in order to pass.

The room was silence ... Evan writing neatly and rapidly as he worked steadily through each section, not letting himself look at the big picture. Each question was a mission on its own and letting himself think too much about what was up next only made the whole thing seem too big. The only thing he did pay attention to was the time – not finishing wasn't acceptable.

Three hours later it was over ... they'd all had the chance to show that yes, they could absorb 900 pages of facts and procedures and demonstrate their understanding by regurgitating it in written form.

"Thank God that's over," Price commented as they all exited the room.

"You got that right," Evan agreed with a grin. "I don't know about you guys but I've always hated exams."

"Maybe you should have gone into the art business after all," Drew teased. "Pretty sure a shit load of exams are in your future if you continue on this road."

"I said I hated them," Evan shot back. "Didn't say I couldn't do them."

"Oh – well that's all right then," Drew returned, ducking out of the way when Lorne attempted to throw a fist his way.

"You're an ass Drew," Evan said even as he tried not to laugh.

"An ass who's about to dress up like a flight suit wearing penguin," Drew pointed out, reminding them all of the next task on their agenda.

Their own official welcome to the Cougar's party. A welcome party with a difference since they'd all have to serve behind the bar as well as act as waiters for the entire base. They were the staff as well as the guests of honour ... just another one of those 'you are the lowest rung now and don't forget it' activities they'd have to get through. It was a 'show us how much you want it' thing, as well as a clear message that ego did not belong in the cockpit of an F-18.

"It's been a while since I bartended," Evan said as he pulled on the crisp white shirt, buttoning it quickly and then reaching for the black bow tie.

"Sounds like a man with experience," Jones announced, finished with his own bow tie. "Guess that puts in you charge behind the bar."

"I never said I was any good at it," Evan complained, even though the assignment suited him. Pulling his khaki flight suit over the top and zipping it up quickly, Lorne turned to see the rest of his class were also pretty much ready to go.

Apart from their dealings with the officers as instructors the class had so far had little to do with the powers that be on base. Now they were thrust into the social side and clearly on display.

Evan knew the game ... put the new guys on the spot, force them to interact with people they'd be able to avoid otherwise ... tease them a little too just to see what they were made of. He gladly took a spot behind the bar, mixing drinks with a calm competence and occasional flair that advertised he'd not only done it before but had in all likelihood spent a number of hours at the task.

"Captain," Evan looked up from preparing a drink to see Major Baker standing at the bar.

"Sir," he greeted the base second in command respectfully, straightening unconsciously as he handed the completed drink to it's recipient.

"At ease," Baker said casually.

"What can I get you Sir?" Lorne waved a hand at the array of alcohol stretched out behind him.

"A Madras," Baker requested, the look on his face suggesting he wasn't sure Lorne would have even heard of one, let alone know what to put in it.

"Coming up Sir," Evan replied, grabbing a shaker and pouring the correct measures of vodka, cranberry and orange juice inside. Shaking it a few times as he grabbed a highball glass and scooped up a few cubes of ice, Evan then skilfully poured the mix into the glass. "You want the garnish Sir?" he asked.

"Why not," Baker said, grinning in amusement as Evan added a slice of lime to sit over the edge of the glass. "Thank you Captain."

"No problem Sir," Evan replied, looking for his next customer but not finding one.

"So I take it this isn't the first time you've served behind the bar," Baker commented.

"No Sir," Evan replied, crossing his arms over his chest and resting some of his weight on the bar behind him. "Worked all through military college."

"The base salary not enough for you," Baker asked, "or did you just have expensive hobbies?"

"Ah, more the latter Sir," Lorne returned, having no intention of admitting to providing financial assistance to his Mom and sister in those years, until his sister had won a scholarship to Art school and his Mom had insisted he quit sending her money.

"I've seen your file Captain," Baker reminded Evan. "A lot of flight hours before you even made it into the Euro-NATO Joint Jet Pilot Training program. That doesn't come cheap."

"No it doesn't Sir," Evan agreed. "Worth every drink I ever poured and then some. You know how it is Sir ... I _had_ to fly, didn't have a choice."

"We get a lot of dedicated fliers here Evan," Baker grabbed Lorne's attention by addressing him by his first name. "Not sure I've ever had one with your background though ... your sheer love of the sky. I wouldn't be surprised if you told me you actually enjoyed the Human Centrifuge." It was an interesting comment because it was generally accepted that _no one_ liked the centrifuge.

"I wouldn't go that far Sir," Evan replied, not sure what to say and trying hard not to appear as uncomfortable as he felt. Having the spotlight on him wasn't something he coveted and he suddenly realised his tactical mistake. Serving at the bar had allowed him to hide but it also now had him pinned down without an easy escape.

"Relax Captain," Baker advised with a chuckle. "Now – you've hidden behind the bar for long enough. Time to come out and meet some people who share your passions. You're going to be working with some of them once you've finished the training program so now's the time to start building your network."

"Yes Sir," Lorne reluctantly gave up his place for Jones to step into, following Baker out into the room at large.

What followed was about what you'd expect from a group of mostly men - military men at that - in possession of large quantities of alcohol and with something to celebrate.

Lorne and every member of his class had to participate in more than one beer call ... the rest of the group singing a silly song that ended with the command to drink. Evan played along, downing entire bottles of the local brew until he was on the edges of being very drunk.

That was also about the time when everyone else was already completely shitfaced – a good thing for someone who wanted to fit in but at the same time didn't want to lose that much control over themselves. No one even noticed when Evan stopped responding to beer call, nor when he switched to soda.

The party went on ... and on ... more than one person telling Evan that it wasn't considered a party at all unless they were all still going strong when Friday night had long turned into Saturday morning.

Finally things wound down and Lorne was free to return to his room, steady on his feet since he'd stopped drinking hours before. He might not be drunk but he was dead tired ... weeks of sleep deprivation as he crammed as many hours into every day as he could manage catching up to him.

He'd been officially welcomed, passed his first big tests, and made new friends over the past four weeks. Four weeks and he hadn't even _touched_ an F-18 yet. It was a good start though and he'd get his chance before too much longer.

Falling onto his bed fully clothed, Evan closed his eyes and let sleep find him.

**Authors Note:**

I must acknowledge again the Jetsteam program ... the basic key activities I've portrayed here all came from there - I wouldn't have had a clue _what_ they do in fighter pilot training without it! The next chapter will reveal Lorne's call sign – they get assigned pretty early in the training program.


	2. Joining the club

**Chapter 2: Joining the club**

It was week nine in the training program and finally Lorne was going to get his first ride in an F-18. The prior weeks had been hectic and exhausting and it was about to get worse. As with everything else, before they could fly the F-18 they had to know all the flight worthiness tests - _cold_. There were 155 external pre-flight checks before they'd even be able to sit in the cockpit and another 194 cockpit checks once they did. Amazingly, 76 of those had to be done before they could even start the engine and another 45 were just for that alone.

Captain James Reed, the safety officer, did their first and only F-18 walk around, showing them every check and giving them the reasons for doing it. It was another overload of information they'd have to absorb any way they could.

Evan took copious notes, rewrote those, and then wrote them out again until finally he was confident he'd be able to follow the sequence imprinted in his head. It was one of those times during the course when having experience of a similar aircraft _wasn't _a favour. The similarities were confusing at times because an F-18 _wasn't_ the same as the planes he'd flown for NASA - Lorne had to try extra hard to set aside his prior training and make a new space for information now labelled 'Hornet'. He didn't want to overwrite the old stuff - he just needed to blank it out for the time being.

Each trainee was assigned an instructor - the person who'd sit in the back seat until such time as they'd done enough flying time to convince everyone they were ready to fly solo. Lorne was assigned to Major Baker himself and had to endure the ribbing from his classmates about how tough the base second in command would likely be on him.

"You better watch what you say too," Drew advised with a slight smirk as the group got ready for their very first flight. "He'll be playing it back for everyone to hear - using you as an example to the rest of us!"

It was a truth they all lived by - there were no secrets in the world of fighter pilots. Everything displayed on the HUD was recorded - every action and everything they said. Recorded and played back in post flight debriefs. And if you made a mistake _everyone _would get to relive it live and up close.

"I've got nothing to hide," Evan shot back. "You better watch that yourself Drew ... I hear Major Collins isn't exactly chatty behind the stick. You might have to learn how to be quiet for a change."

"Not all of us are the strong and silent type," Drew teased back, never one to give an inch when the two of them got going.

"Guys," Jones subtlety reminded everyone to refocus on the task at hand.

Lorne and Drew exchanged amused glances before finishing up their preparations - g-suits and harness supports and everything else needed to gear up for a flight in an F-18 all donned and tightened into place.

"Let's do this," Jones announced with an excited grin.

Everyone followed him out the door, heading out to link up with their assigned instructors. "Hey Drew?" Lorne stopped just before they peeled off in different directions. "Don't break the plane okay."

Drew laughed. "Ha - you either! Your Yankee government might not take you back if they get hit with a 32 million dollar bill on your account."

"I'll keep that in mind," Evan replied, raising a hand in a casual wave that said it all - good luck, have fun, don't stuff it up!

The group would take off in a staggered schedule to avoid confusion during takeoff. Lorne was going to be the last to head up ... he stood poised at the windows, watching as one by one his class mates completed their checks and then took to the sky.

So far so good.

"You ready Captain?" Major Baker announced his arrival, having Lorne spinning and straightening abruptly.

"Yes Sir," he said, excitement twinkling in his eyes even though he kept his expression carefully bland.

"Let's go then," Baker waved a hand, motioning for Lorne to lead the way.

He stood silently as Evan went through all the flight worthiness tests ... it took patience to wait out a rookies first run - experienced pilots could knock all the checks off in less than 5 minutes. Rookies more usually took forty five minutes ... Evan, with his prior experiences and the extra focus he'd put on studying the sequence, did it in twenty.

It almost felt like an anticlimax to be sitting in the cockpit, engine running, ready to take off. Lorne was all business as he calmly reported each stage as complete.

"Engines good ... Mil power check ... EGT, fuel flow, nozzle, oil is good ... Going into burner."

The power was there at his fingertips ... his to command. As the aircraft picked up speed he continued calmly.

"We're at 145 ... Cleared to take off."

When they hit the required speed Lorne pulled back on the stick and the F-18 rose effortlessly into the sky.

"Good job," Baker said over the radio. "Don't come out of burner."

"Gear, flaps up, 220," Evan said seconds later ... they were away!

"Out of burner," Baker instructed. "Now ... show me your stuff."

Permission to cut loose granted, Lorne immediately took the aircraft through basic manoeuvres - flying patterns – including rolls, climbs and stalls. It was adrenalin pumping, heart racing, ride of your life stuff but the idea was to show that you had a cool head and discipline in the cockpit. No one would get to take an F-18 out solo unless they'd convinced their instructor they were ready for it.

"Coming up," Lorne announced before taking the plane into a steep climb that would see them hit vertical.

"That's it ... nice and aggressive," Baker coached. "Keep pulling."

"And 180," Lorne confirmed, keeping the plane there for a few seconds before letting the left wing drop, guiding the plane into a controlled descent.

Everything was going great and Lorne was having the time of his life ... until his flight control system flashed a warning.

"FCS 19," Lorne reported to Baker. "Initiating red page response." The FCS was the system that controlled flaps, rudder, and everything needed to steer the plane. A warning could mean nothing more than a computer glitch or it could mean there was a serious problem. There were backups but the first step was to shut down the system, reboot it, and hope that the problem was corrected.

"Acknowledged," Baker replied, letting Lorne handle it for the moment.

Evan shut down the system, waited a moment and then restarted it. When the screens came back up the FCS was still flashing. "Reboot unsuccessful," he reported calmly. "Taking us on approach back to base and attempting secondary restart."

The decision to return to base could have come from Baker as the instructor but Lorne knew the procedure and didn't give the other man a chance to order him home. As soon as the FCS had flashed the trip had been over. Now it was about landing the plane safely.

The first reboot was like hitting Control Alt Delete on a home computer ... a soft restart of the systems. The secondary restart was like switching the computer off at the power, waiting a few moments and then switching it on again. Lorne was calm and controlled as he followed the steps, the planes inertia enough to keep them on an even heading as he waited to see if the restart would be successful.

"Secondary reboot unsuccessful," Lorne reported once the system had reinitialised and the FCS warning was _still_ flashing. "Switching to back up systems."

"Keep it steady," Baker instructed. "Prepare for landing."

"Yes Sir," Lorne acknowledged, procedures to prepare the plane for landing coming to him automatically and being executed flawlessly.

"You ready to do this?" Baker asked, no hint of censure or suggestion that he wasn't evident in the tone. The FCS warning didn't specify a specific issue - the backup systems would engage flaps, rudder and landing gear when required - unless there was something wrong with one of them. It wasn't the level of challenge the Major would have wanted for any rookie on their first flight but he was willing to give Lorne the chance to bring the plane down, if he felt himself up for it.

"Yes Sir," Lorne returned confidently. Everything was about coordinating all the information and all the actions needed to land ... the HUD readings on speed and g-force, whether the E bracket (which measured angle on landing and how high the nose was) was sitting where it should be.

"Gear down ...," Evan reported, approaching the runway with everything lined up as it should be. "And flaps ... sluggish," Evan was calm as he tried again to get the flaps engaged. They wouldn't be able to reduce speed enough for landing without them. "Flaps down," he confirmed a moment later.

"Keep your speed up," Baker reminded him. It was what made the F-18 such a beast to land ... you had to bring it down fast and hard because it had never been designed to land on land. It was a navy plane, designed to land on an aircraft carrier at sea where you flew it down to impact, the grab hook at the back ripping off speed in less than a 100 metres. Lorne had seen it that first day when he'd watched an F-18 land up close for the first time ... now he was doing it himself and it all felt a lot faster and more counter intuitive than it had seemed from the ground.

Lorne was silent now as he controlled the aircraft with precision. The ground rose up to meet them, wheels screeching onto the tarmac and jostling them slightly. They were down and the plane was still in one piece.

"Nice job Captain," Baker congratulated him from the back as they slowed and taxied down the runaway towards the park zone.

"Thank you Sir," Lorne replied, only then thinking about the 'what ifs'. He had the base 2IC in the back seat and he'd landed using secondary flight control systems ... in hindsight maybe he _should_ have handed over control to the Major. He was pretty sure that wiping out with your commanding officer on board would be something your career would never live down - if you survived - and he could only thank all those hours of study ... and even more hours in the air ... that had seen him through.

oOo

Of course there was an investigation ... when anything went wrong during an F-18 flight there was _always _an investigation. It was the rule of 410 squadron ... one pilot's mistake was everyone's lesson. No one had time to make all the possible mistakes that could be made ... only by learning from every mistake made would they be prepared to react in every situation. At the weekly all officers meeting even the senior pilots fessed up - replays of the HUD and voice tapes accompanying the personal accounting of what had happened and how the situation had been addressed.

In Lorne's case, all the pre-flight checks were reviewed to determine whether he'd missed something obvious to explain the failure. His following the procedures while in the air were also scrutinised and in the end it was determined that a systems error had led to the flaps being unable to engage with primary systems - that had caused the warning. It had been a real failure – without secondary systems Evan couldn't have landed the plane ... not without serious risk. Lorne was in the clear and ended up getting a rare pat on the back for his cool head and for having the guts to make his first landing such a difficult one.

Back with his classmates, Lorne grinned. "How'd it go guys?" he asked, eager to hear their tales and put his own behind him.

oOo

Any cause for celebration was jumped on and exploited ... and their first flights in a Hornet certainly fit the bill. That night Lorne and his class mates went down to the officers rec room, already crowded with practically everyone on base. It was loud and energetic and just the place to sit back and reflect without being able to talk too much.

While fighter piloting was predominantly a male game so far, base personnel in general were a good mix of both genders, the girls forming their own 'clique' just as the trainees had. That night they sat in a close circle, looking over at Lorne's table from time to time and then laughing conspiratorially as they jotted things down on a piece of paper.

"I wonder what they're talking about?" Drew commented, all of them unable to ignore the very obvious behaviour.

"Probably this years poll," Jones said lightly.

"Poll?" Cade asked curiously.

"You haven't heard about that?" Jones asked in surprise, looking around at the group and getting six negative reactions. "Ah," Jones grinned suddenly. "It's tradition ... every course the girls conduct a poll ... vote for their number one pick for 'Rookie Most Wanted'. The base CO knows about it but lets it slide - it's kind of like their little pay back for not having any female Canadian fighter pilots yet."

"They hand out any prizes for winning?" Drew asked in amusement.

"Nah - unless you count six months of teasing and having your picture up in their locker room a prize," Jones returned. "They usually announce their pick after the first F-18 rookie flights ... which would be tonight."

"You know ... I'm feeling a sudden bout of tiredness coming on," Cade joked, raising his eyebrow at Evan questioningly. "We could call it an early night." Lorne smiled but kept quiet as Jones replied in his stead.

"It'll only be worse if they pick you and you're not here," Jones pointed out. "The pride of the rookies is at stake here Cade - if you win you're expected to take it like a man, be a good sport, all of that."

"Poster Boy here is looking a little green around the gills," Marcus Price joked. "You not ready for that honour kid?"

"Hell no!" Cade blushed as usual. "Please don't let them pick me."

"It's not just looks," Jones said bracingly. "I knew a guy who did the course two years ago ... said the girls made quite the production out of detailing their criteria when they announced their selection - just to increase the embarrassment." Noticing one of the girls standing up with a sheet of paper in hand, he grinned. "Heads up boys - the show's about to start."

Captain Steph Riley stood up, letting out an ear splitting whistle that had the whole room quieting instantly. "Yes, it's that time of the year again ... Ladies choice for Rookie Most Wanted," Steph announced loudly. Catching Major Baker's eye at a table across the room where all the instructors were sitting, she added "with your permission Sir?"

"Go ahead Captain," Baker said, clearly amused.

"Thank you Sir," Steph said, looking over at the rookies with a mischievous expression. "The competition this year was tough and we had to make up a few new criteria to weed out a winner."

There was cheering and catcalls from the crowd and Steph had to hold up her hands again to get everyone to quiet down.

"This year's pick, whom we've dubbed "the rookie your Mom would most want you to fall in love with" is ...," Steph paused for effect, grinning as people yelled out for her to get on with it, "Captain Evan Lorne!"

"Shit," Lorne muttered, his face blank as the room erupted into loud calls for Evan to get up. He hadn't been expecting that ... he wasn't even a Canadian for god's sake.

"Oh you're in trouble now," Drew slapped a hand to Evan's back sharply, grinning like an idiot. "Time to get up there and take your medicine like a man," he added, his words echoed by the rest of the class who were all grinning in a combination of relief they hadn't been chosen and enjoyment of Evan's clear embarrassment.

"Do I have to?" he looked to Drew pleadingly, even as he reluctantly stood up. "One of you put them up to this right? Cade - you're taller, and a hell of a lot better looking ... wanna trade places?"

"NO way man!" Cade laughed, happy for once not to be the one blushing in embarrassment. "The glory is all yours."

"Right," Lorne took a deep breath, pinning each of them with a pointed look that said they'd better not add to the ribbing he was already getting from the rest of the room. Scooting around chairs and tables he made his way towards Captain Riley, working at putting a bland and calm expression on his face.

"Captain," she greeted him with a grin that said she was really enjoying herself. Behind her the rest of the girls whistled and cheered and called out things that were suggestive and just not right to Lorne's mind.

"Captain," he said blandly, playing along as she placed a homemade medallion around his neck with a huge #1 painted on it.

"Do you want to hear why we chose you?" she asked with a teasing smile.

"Not particularly," Evan said honestly. "But I'm guessing you'll be telling me anyway."

"How about the rest of you?" Steph called out. "Do you want to hear why we chose the Captain here for this year's Rookie Most Wanted?"

"Hell yes," the calls came from everywhere, including his own table. Lorne shot them a look that said they'd pay for that later.

"Okay .. okay," Steph waited until everyone was quiet, making a play on peering at her paper before continuing. "You'll be interested to know that you didn't score highest on any of our criteria _but_ you were the most consistent."

"You're making me sound like a high fibre diet - boring but good for you," Evan joked, getting a round of laughter in reward.

"Very funny," Steph commented, her blue eyes sparkling with mirth. "To summarise ... we, the female population of Canadian Forces Base Cold Lake, have dubbed you this year's Rookie Most Wanted because you're unfailingly polite to everyone, you're talented but modest, you've got that cute Yankee accent thing going, we hear you're _very _good with your hands," everyone laughed at that one as Evan struggled not to flush bright red, "and gosh darn it you're just so _nice_."

"Ah ... okay," Evan didn't know what to say. "You sure you don't want to do a recount ... got some major talent sitting right there just waiting to shine," he nodded towards the table of trainees.

"We're happy with our choice," Steph replied. "In fact, I've already heard a few comments from the ladies looking forward to seeing your picture up in our locker room this year."

Evan did flush then, looking down at the floor that he really wished would just open up and swallow him whole. More cheering and whistling erupted as Lorne looked up from his contemplation of his shoes. Time to man up – the pride of the rookies, as Jones had put it, was at stake.

"Fine," he said loudly. "I accept the title on the understanding that it'll remain here on Canadian soil. No taking out an advert in the US Air Force Times okay?"

"Deal," Steph said, holding out her hand for them to shake on it.

It wasn't a breach of protocol or regulations ... true, Lorne had only spoken to the Captain here and there but they were of equivalent rank and not in the same chain of command. Instead of shaking her hand he used it to pull her into his arms, dipping her close to the floor as he laid a flamboyant kiss on her lips that had the whole room whistling and stomping their feet.

Returning the now dazed Captain to her feet, Lorne paused to bow a couple of times, calling out "thank you, thank you," before he made his way gratefully back to his table.

"You _rock_ Man," Cade exclaimed, patting Evan's back when he threw himself down next to the other man.

"I feel sick," Evan muttered, wondering what the hell had possessed him. He deliberately didn't look back at Captain Riley, sure she'd be staring daggers at his back right about then.

"Interesting way to say thank you Captain," Major Baker's voice at his back had Lorne groaning silently. Could the night possibly get any worse?

"Ah ... thank you Sir?" Evan said uncertainly, swivelling to look up at the base 2IC. "I'm not gonna get into trouble for that am I?"

"I think you're safe," Baker replied in amusement, taking the only available seat at the table. "You might have created an expectation with Captain Riley though ... that was some kiss!"

"Oh God," Evan looked horrified, he hadn't even thought of that. "I hope not."

"Are you nuts man?" Cade looked at Lorne in disbelief. "She's ... she's ... hot!" Realising that might not be exactly the way to talk in front of a superior Cade's face blanched. "Ah ... respectfully speaking Sir," he said weakly.

"At ease Lieutenant," Baker replied with a laugh. "He's right ... Captain Riley does have a lot to recommend her. Our Canadian girls not good enough for you Lorne?"

"I'm sure she's a lovely girl Sir," Lorne was seriously uncomfortable now. "I'm just not ...," he trailed off, wondering how the hell to get himself out of this one.

"Hey, you never know – he might already have a girl waiting patiently for him back home," Drew came to his rescue. "Is that it Evan? You got a girlfriend back in the States?"

"Not any more," Evan replied with a completely straight face, using a mournful tone that stopped the conversation cold. Everyone looked at him with varying expressions of sympathy and awkwardness before Drew finally worked out that he was joking.

"Very funny," Drew said, laughing along with everyone else.

"My girlfriend was an experimental F-16," Evan said, intent on steering the conversation away from his love life, or lack thereof. "Static stability fly-by-wire flight control system, 20 mm cannon, six AIM-9 Sidewinder heat-seeking short-range air-to-air missiles, maximum speed of over Mach 2, capable of pulling 9-g manoeuvres. Responsive ... always there just when I needed her." He grinned suddenly. "Now I've thrown her over for a supermodel ... temperamental as hell but _man_, what a ride."

Everyone laughed and Evan laughed with them, but deep down there was a serious truth. He'd devoted his life to flying ... to getting as high up the chain of pilots as he could ... and he was fully aware of what he'd sacrificed to get there. Romance, companionship ... _a life _... something beyond the day to day hard slog of study, fly, review, exercise, study, sleep ... endlessly repeating until he got ... _somewhere_. Evan wasn't even sure he knew where that somewhere was anymore, just that he _needed_ to get there.

As the conversation shifted to talk of the Hornet, the men just as reverent about its attributes as they would have been talking about a woman, Lorne sat back and relaxed, finally off the hook. As far as honours went, Rookie Most Wanted was one he could definitely have done without!

oOo

The pace of the course picked up even more after that first day of flight ... each trainee continuing to push the heavy study load but adding in flights every day. Lorne was beyond tired but determined to keep sharp, fitting in quick naps where he could as he tried to make the most of every day. They were all exhausted and stupid mistakes started to creep in ... like forgetting to log a flight plan or double booking themselves for training sessions. More serious mistakes happened too ... landing the plane too hard instead of overshooting the tower, not following procedure on a yellow page emergency. Each weeks officers only meeting got longer and longer as the mistakes were relived and dissected until everyone understood how they'd happened and how to stop them from happening again in the future.

Lorne hadn't made any mistakes as yet and wasn't sure if that was due to grim determination or sheer dumb luck.

oOo

And then suddenly it was week eleven and they were staring their first solo flight in the face. After only four hours cumulative flight time in the F-18 they'd all been judged as having done enough to go up alone.

It was the day every rookie looked forward to.

Some of the instructors had more than 2000 hours of flight time in an F-18 ... for the trainees it was the first minute of the first hour of their careers as solo fliers.

Lorne had flown 'first' solo flights before – they all had - but in a F-18 it seemed to take on an extra dimension ... if one of the myriad of things that could go wrong _did_, there was no instructor in the backseat to take over, to approve the chosen course of action, to offer encouragement.

It all came down to him.

This time Lorne was first up ... as he strode across the tarmac a strange calm descended upon him. He'd had it happen before, pretty much every time he found himself in a potentially stressful or high adrenalin situation. It was like nerves ... worries ... fears were something he only felt _before_ the fact. Once he was there and it was too late to back out all of that dropped away, leaving only confidence and resolve.

After Evan's first F-18 flight, the solo version was almost an anti climax. There were no FCS warnings, no bad weather ... no mistakes.

It was just Captain Evan Lorne ... alone at 20,000 feet ... flying all the patterns and then calmly bringing her down again.

He felt exhilarated once he'd brought the aircraft to a stop. Sitting in the cockpit for a few moments he looked at all the controls – the buttons and dials and readouts – and then out across the tarmac. What a ride!

Grinning, Evan unstrapped and hauled himself out of the plane ... time to let someone else have their turn.

oOo

If first F-18 flights were something to celebrate, first solo flights were even more so ... they marked an important rite of passage ... an entry into an exclusive club.

To mark that occasion, each rookie got a call sign ... not one of _their_ choosing but rather one chosen by their peers. There would even be a vote because in the call sign business, mob rules applied. It meant they'd joined a special family, one that would test them and demand that they prove themselves every day.

After the buzz of conversation that had taken place when they'd all returned from their solo flights ... incident free except that Jones had landed the plane down hard ... _again_ ... the group was silent.

Lorne was trying not to run the possibilities in his head ... call signs that would be seriously cool and ones that would have him cringing for the rest of his life. There was no point ... for a man who was used to being in control, having something important completely out of his hands was uncomfortable.

Arriving at the rec rooms where everyone waited, the rituals began. First up was for each of them to get "roasted" which basically meant being subjected to what could only be described as a teasing combination of insult, praise and outlandish truth. Supposedly it was a great honour and the trainees even had the opportunity to roast their instructors in return if they chose.

Lorne smiled good naturedly as Major Baker took great delight in pointing out, using the various things Evan himself had done during the course as the example – all embellished - why the Canadian air force was better than its US counterpart. That done, all Evan had to do was drink beer from the end of a used gun barrel from the nose of an F-18, poured for him by Baker at the other end, to complete the ritual. The barrel was ridiculously long and getting yourself into a position close to the floor at the end of it was an exercise in partial humiliation in itself but Lorne did it with a grin.

Swiping beer from his chin, Evan stepped clear of the remaining beer splatter and gratefully made space for the next rookie to get his treatment.

Cade, Marcus, Neil, John, Paul and Drew ... they all stepped up to the barrel and took that drink, knowing that they were one step closer to joining the club.

"Okay," Major Baker held up a hand to get everyone to be quiet. "It's time for the call sign review. Boys," he looked at the rookies with a grin. "You know where to go."

"Yes Sir," Jones motioned for the rest of them to follow him out of the rec room down the corridors to a small room far enough away they'd be unable to hear anything. To make sure of that they were accompanied by Captain Reed who almost gleefully locked them in before rejoining the others.

"Anyone want to start guessing possibilities?" Drew asked.

"Are you kidding?" Evan replied. "You've got a bunch of pilots already halfway to plastered, most of them with call signs they'd like a refund on ... and now they have the chance for a little payback ... I'm not sure I want to even imagine what they'll come up with."

"It was _our_ solo flight," Cade muttered. "We should get to choose our own call signs."

"How many 'Mavericks' do you think the force can take?" Paul joked. "Besides, I'm sure everyone in that room thought the same thing at one time. Now they're in there loving every minute. That'll be us some day."

"Do we really have to keep the call signs they give us forever?" Neil asked.

"You think Captain "Bean" Reed keeps that one by choice?" John returned. "Seems that pilots have _long_ memories. The only one of us with any hope of leaving a bad call sign behind is Lorne."

"We'll make sure to remind him though, every chance we get," Drew added, unperturbed when Evan shot him a frowning look.

"Agreed," both John and Neil spoke at the same time.

"This is torture," Cade complained. "How long is this gonna take?!"

"Too long," Evan grinned suddenly. "Why? You in a hurry to be lumped with 'Blushing' Boston?"

"That better not be what they pick or I'm blaming you," Cade shot back.

The conversation degenerated for a bit as possibilities more and more ridiculous were called out. And still no one came back to get them.

"They better finish this soon," Drew muttered. "I seriously need to -," he broke off as the lock clicked and the door opened.

"Ready boys?" Captain Reed asked, the grin on his face worrying everyone.

"As we'll ever be," John said, again leading the way back to the rec rooms. Lorne fell in at the rear, in no hurry at all.

That's the order they went in, Captain John "Slammer" Jones being named for the hard landings he seemed unable to completely soften although luckily he had only damaged the landing gear once and that had been due to a fatigued landing strut. Jones grinned ... it signified something he didn't want to highlight but without knowing the story behind it, it was actually a pretty cool sign. Shaking Reed's hand, John took the shot he was handed and downed it in one go.

Evan felt almost guilty when Cade went next and was dubbed "Bashful", a little too close to his own teasing suggestion. Cade blanched slightly but then rallied, nodding and doing his best to smile as he shook hands, drank his shot and then stepped back.

"Lieutenant," Captain Reed smiled at Neil Somerton, "you're now gonna be known as 'Sunshine', on account of the fact that everyone says you're just way too happy."

"Glad I'm not naturally grumpy then," Neil replied, grinning and looking happy, already living up to his sign.

"Marcus," the Captain called out next. "We hear you got full marks on the operations test ... and that makes you 'Right' Price."

"Very clever Sir," Price said with a chuckle. He shook the Captain's hand and tapped his shot glass with all those nearby before drinking it down.

"And Paul," the Captain continued, "now known as 'Wizard', for obvious reasons, although you can tell everyone it's because you're magic behind the stick if you like Captain."

"I could," Paul agreed, obviously more than happy with his call sign, toasting everyone with his glass high.

"Captain Rider next," Reed shot Drew a quick grin. "I'm guessing this won't be the first time someone called you 'Easy' but you just tell them it's on account of your last name and not because of your morals."

Drew laughed, shaking the Captain's hand firmly and drinking his shot down quickly. Throwing Evan a quick glance, he grinned, clearly looking forward to what was coming next.

"And lastly we have our friend from the States," Captain Reed concluded. "The boys and I are pretty proud of this one ... after your little award from the ladies a couple of weeks ago a little birdie told us about your _deep_ affection for the aircraft you had to leave behind."

Evan tensed as Reed grinned just a little too gleefully before delivering the punch line.

"So, from now on you're gonna be 'Love' Lorne," Reed announced. Each call sign had gotten a rousing cheer but Evan's was by far the loudest.

"Lovelorn," Drew couldn't help but laugh. "That _is_ pretty clever ... and rather fitting for the man who declared his affection for an inanimate object."

"Yeah, it's great," Lorne replied, smiling as best he could while kicking himself mentally for that whole kissing Captain Riley incident. He really should have known better! Evan shook Captain Reed's hand and then tossed back his shot in one go, slamming the empty glass down on the bar and motioning for another.

Things got even rowdier as more toasts were called out to the rookies who were now part of an exclusive membership.

All Evan could think about was the fact that from then on grown men would be calling him 'Love' ... _all_ the time. It was embarrassing and silly and just totally uncool, but he'd live with it ... because at the end of the day it was _his_ call sign ... and he'd earned it fair and square.

**Authors Notes:**

You might think 'Love' is a stupid call sign BUT let me tell you about the ones they had on Jetstream. Floater, T-bag, Guns, Carney, Tickler, and my personal favourites ... Nail'n for the guy whose last name was Coffin, and Blow for the guy whose last name was Jobin. Seriously.

And to save you a trip to the dictionary, for those who don't know, _lovelorn_ is an adjective that means unhappy in love, or suffering from unrequited love.

Again, lots of inspiration, aircraft flying speak, and specific details on what the trainees would do when came from Jetstream. In particular the FCS warning light thing did happen in the series although not as I've deplicted it. I made up some stuff though - numbering the FCS warning, the whole yearly poll for Rookie Most Wanted, and the thing with secondary systems being used to control gears and flaps during Lorne's first flight. Any errors with any of this or anything else included here are _all_ mine.


	3. Blood on the tarmac

**Chapter 3: Blood on the tarmac**

Now over three months into the program, first solo's successfully behind them, the trainee's might have been forgiven for thinking things would relax a little.

So not the case.

As summer hit in Cold Lake the pressure rose along with the temperature. On the ground it cleared a hundred degrees ... up in the air, enclosed in the airtight bubble that passed for a cockpit, it felt ten times worse.

Everyone was sweating ... in the heat _and_ under the stress of taking piloting an F-18 to a new level ... from plane to weapon ... from solo to formation flying.

More than one instructor told them that the most intense, high pressure stage of the training program was learning to fly in formation. Flying a plane solo – a lone bird in the sky – was one thing. Now they had to learn to fly in conjunction with at least one other plane which required a whole new set of skills.

If any trainee had a weakness now was the time to fix it, before it became something that would spell the untimely end of their careers.

"You're a solid flier Lorne," Major Baker said at one of Evan's regular review sessions. "_More_ than solid ... but I'm wondering about your Achilles heel ... this early in a career in the Hornet _everybody_ has one. For Jones it's landings. For Merlin it's rushing. I haven't seen yours yet but I know it's there."

"What about you Sir?" Evan asked, curiosity and the need to redirect the conversation both driving him. "Did you have an Achilles heel?"

"I suspect mine was the same as yours son," Baker said, not letting himself be distracted. "I've read your file Evan," he added, expecting that to be explanation enough.

Evan's eyes shot up to meet his instructors ... his pulse ramping up a notch as he considered the implications of that statement. "Ah ... how far back does that go Sir?" he asked weakly.

"All the way," Baker replied kindly. "You've worked hard to overcome what anyone would acknowledge as being personally difficult for you. Flying formation is about control and you've got that in spades. Don't make this any different in your head. It's not."

"No Sir," Evan tried to keep himself expressionless even as his emotions surged. "_The past is the past_," he reminded himself.

Major Baker looked at him for a moment, perhaps expecting Evan to say more. When he didn't, Baker let out a breath that might have been disappointment, before nodding. "If you're having difficulties, you come to me," he said firmly. "No burying it under the carpet because that's the kind of thing that'll only end in disaster."

"Yes Sir," Lorne all but snapped a salute, his tone was so brisk and ... military.

"Dismissed," Baker finally let him off the hook, his expression thoughtful.

Evan jumped up and barely restrained himself from hurrying out of the room. It seemed that even doing his training across the border wasn't far enough away to escape the events he didn't want to talk about ... not that he'd ever really tried to escape.

His father ... what had happened to him so many years ago ... was a part of Lorne. It defined him in many respects; Evan _knew_ that. But flying ... and in particular flying the F-18 to its fullest capacity was what he wanted to do. What he _needed_ to do. And he'd let nothing stand in his way, especially not his own weaknesses.

oOo

Formation flying for combat had been around since World War 2. One pilot alone in the sky with a blind spot on his tail was vulnerable. Two pilots, each watching out for the other, weren't. In modern flight - in an F-18 going 400 miles per hours with rear view mirrors that might as well not have been installed they were so ineffective - it was even more the case.

Everyone wanted to be the lead ... the guy running the show up in the air. But to get there they had to prove themselves as wingers first. A winger's job was to watch the leads tail – his 'six' – to maintain visual and to take his cues from them alone.

As with every new phase of training, the rookies were talking about it days before they actually had to do it.

"Anyone _not_ flown formation in some form?" Neil asked, the boys all gathered around one of the Mess tables for dinner for once. Usually at least one of them decided even the small amount of time required to sit down and eat was too much, skipping meals in favour of studying and eating on the run.

"I've only done it a few times," Cade admitted. "And only in the CT15 Hawk."

"That's plenty," Marcus pointed out. "Anything's gonna seem pitiful compared to doing formation in a Hornet anyway."

"True," John agreed. "My mate – the guy who did the program two years ago – said you can't be prepared for how big and scary another Hornet looks when you're staring at it's under carriage from 15 feet away."

"The F-16 would be similar though, wouldn't it Evan?" Drew asked curiously.

"I guess, but the Falcon's not as twitchy as the Hornet," Lorne explained. "Getting into position is one thing – making it look smooth is another – and being comfortable that close to another plane is a whole other ball game."

"Did you do much formation work?" Cade asked.

"Not really," Evan admitted. "Not much call for formation flying in high speed research."

"But you have done some though, right?" Cade persisted.

"Yeah I've done it," Lorne replied. "To be honest it's not my favourite part of flying but it doesn't have to be. You just have to get it done."

"Kind of worrying when they tell you the first mission objective is to not hit the other guy," Paul pointed out.

"Yeah," Drew laughed. "Makes it sound a lot more difficult when they put it that way."

The others made various comments in agreement before the conversation shifted on to other topics. Evan zoned out, eyes on a dinner he wasn't seeing as he replayed that conversation with Major Baker. He had no doubt the Major's eyes would be firmly fixed on him during their first formation flight, no doubt looking for any evidence of that Achilles heel he'd talked about. Not that it would mean Lorne would fail the course if he showed it – he'd have to explain it though, explain himself and that was a place Evan didn't want to go.

"You okay?" Drew asked quietly, the rest of their group not noticing as the conversation continued to flow around them.

"Huh?" Evan snapped back to the present, blinking a couple of times before he realised what he'd done. "Sure – just tired," he dismissed Drew's concern lightly.

"Sure," Drew returned sceptically.

"I gotta get back to the books," Lorne stood up abruptly. "Boys," he nodded to the table at large, taking his leave before anyone could protest.

oOo

First formation flights were usually one plane with trainee and instructor and a second with two fully qualified pilots in attendance. Lorne, composed and calm, suited up for his first mission with steady purpose.

"Ready?" Baker asked, arriving already suited up.

"Yes Sir," Lorne replied confidently. Flight plans had been lodged and Evan had studied up on everything that would be required of him, repeating things over and over until he could recite it cold. The mission had to go well ... there was no other option.

"Let's go then," Baker led the way from the office out across the tarmac to his plane.

Pre-flight checks that had taken Evan twenty minutes the first time were now taking fifteen ... still three times as long as a seasoned F-18 pilot but well up there as far as the rest of the trainees were concerned.

Evan never tried to rush ... even that day when the motivation was there ... the experienced pilots in the other plane were already set to go while he was still only half way through his checks. Ignoring that, ignoring everything except the litany of checks running on automatic in his head, Lorne completed all the requirements and was soon doing his first synchronised take off, another plane beside him feeling a hell of a lot closer than was really comfortable.

"Let's park her off the wing," Major Baker requested as soon as they were at 20,000 feet, doing 375 miles per hour.

"Off the wing," Lorne reiterated, powering forward until they were beside the other jet.

"Take us closer," Baker encouraged.

Lorne gradually moved the F-18 in towards the other plane, maintaining equivalent speed and trying his damndest to make it as smooth as possible. Judging how close he actually was wasn't as hard as might be expected. There was a formula and all he had to do was follow it ... missile tip at the end of his right wing lined up with the maple leaf emblem printed on the side of the plane ... check. Pull forward until flush with the burner cans on the jet beside him ... check. And presto ... they were now flying within fifteen feet of the other plane.

It felt close ... really, _really_, close. All the muscles in Evan's forearms and lower legs were tight as he controlled the stick, holding position until he was told otherwise.

"Relax Lorne," Baker said quietly. "You're there."

"Yes Sir," Lorne replied, actively trying to do as ordered. He held the off wing pattern for moments longer before Baker finally spoke again.

"Move her to line astern," he requested the next pattern without commenting on the completion of the last.

"Line astern," Lorne acknowledged, gratefully dropping back from the side of the other jet. Reducing speed just enough to be able to get into position at the rear of their companion F-18, Evan then pulled forward gradually.

The stick in his hand shook with the turbulence of the other jets engine blast ... his chair shaking a good thing because it meant he was in the right place.

"Hold it steady," Baker urged.

Lorne found the line astern pattern easier in some respects even though the effects of flying so close to the back end of the other plane were so much more obvious.

"Drop it back Lorne," Baker finally instructed.

Line astern pattern completed without incident, Lorne did as instructed, returning the plane to a more distant side by side flight position.

The last part of the days mission was to maintain relative position while the lead plane did a flat turn. Lorne's heart rate kicked up as he prepared for the final sequence. The hand he'd relaxed around the stick tightened unconsciously when the jet beside him dropped its right wing, presenting Evan with an in your face view of the undercarriage. It loomed beside him, bigger and scarier than he'd imagined it would be. His instincts said pull away, create distance ... it was a natural urge he had to fight hard to resist. Keeping with the lead plane was actually easier the closer you stuck ... it was harder to follow the line if you dropped too far back.

"Okay, take us back to base," Baker said when they were done with the turn.

"Yes Sir," Lorne replied, gratefully bringing the plane around and taking a heading that would have them there within minutes.

Usually the flights were too short ... he was never ready to land, always wishing for just a few moments more. Today was different ... Evan wanted to land it and tick all the boxes he needed to – desperate for some alone time so he could process the days experience and then put it away. He was counting on the first one being the hardest, on it getting easier the more formation flying he did in the Hornet.

"Well done Evan," Baker said once they were back on the ground and walking away from the aircraft.

"Really Sir?" Lorne was surprised. He'd been sure what he'd been thinking and feeling had translated somehow into his performance in the air.

"Yes," Baker grinned. "Let's debrief now – you can tell me how _you_ think it went."

Nodding, Evan followed his instructor into one of the lecture rooms, watching quietly as the other man loaded the HUD recording and began the playback.

Seeing his performance, hearing himself calmly responding and reporting his actions was strangely reassuring. He sounded in control. That was good, right?

The tape came to an end and Baker switched off the overhead before coming to prop himself up on the table in front of Evan. "Overall that was a superior performance Evan," he said simply. "Your prior flight experience came through out there – it was a lot smoother than the average rookie."

Superior was the top grade a trainee pilot could get ... it meant you'd had a perfect run. Evan had expended so much energy worrying about not revealing his 'issues' with formation flying that he hadn't allowed himself to consider how it would feel to actually do well.

"Superior?" he repeated stupidly.

"It didn't seem that way to you?" Baker asked interestedly.

"Not really Sir," Evan admitted. "I've done a little formation flying before but ... well I guess it won't surprise you to learn that I never really enjoyed it." He grinned for the first time that day. "I didn't think today was a disaster but I was too focussed on not fucking it up to notice how well it was going."

"Well, there's hope for you yet," Baker said in amusement. "We might just have you enjoying it before we're done with you."

"I hope so Sir," Evan let more emotion that he'd intended show with that statement. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he continued. "I don't suppose I can ask you to keep this one just on the records Sir?" he asked hopefully.

"Worried about being in the limelight again?" Evan almost groaned at the amused expression on his instructors face.

"Not exactly," he tried to explain. "Maybe its more the unfair advantage ... I'm not exactly a 'rookie' in the true sense of the word, am I Sir?"

"Having flown the hell out of an F-16 does give you an edge," Baker agreed thoughtfully. "Fine – this time I'll put the results in your record and leave it at that. Next time though, assuming you continue with the superior flying, it'll have to be a public one." The Major made eye contact with Evan as he continued. "You're working just as hard as the other rookies Lorne – maybe not in the same areas – and not in ways any of them would be aware of. Don't down play that."

"No Sir," Evan said awkwardly, resisting the urge to squirm in his seat.

"Okay – we're done here," Baker said. "Go – just don't hide for too long."

"Thank you Sir," Lorne got up quickly and strode from the room, trying not to worry about the fact that Major Baker was beginning to know him too well. Man, he really needed to get a look at what was written in his file.

oOo

"We missed you last night," Drew told Lorne at breakfast the next day.

"Yeah – sorry," Evan replied unapologetically. "Had some stuff to work on. Sleep to catch up on."

"But your flight went okay, right?" Drew persisted.

"It was fine," Lorne returned. "What about you – how'd it go?"

"Mine was fine too," Drew's expression didn't match his tone. Evan frowned, looking at the rest of his class, taking real notice for the first time that morning. The air of doom hung almost visibly over them and Lorne's stomach dropped.

"What happened?" he asked seriously, seeing that he'd missed something big while he'd been off smoothing out his emotional edges. Looking around again he realised that one of their number was missing. "Where's Paul?"

"In with the review board," John explained. "None of us know the full story ... just that something didn't go well yesterday."

"Bad enough for them to take it up official channels," Marcus added.

"Shit," Lorne muttered. That didn't sound good ... things only went to the flight review board when disciplinary action was being considered. "He didn't say anything last night?"

"He went missing too," Drew's tone wasn't accusatory but still Evan felt a little guilty.

"If I'd known something had gone down I would have forgone the extra sleep," he said.

"Not much you could have done," John pointed out.

Everyone fell silent, the mood at the table glum. No one wanted to think about it but the fact was that most courses had pilots dropping out for whatever reason. Usually it was because they couldn't master one of the basic elements every fighter pilot had to conquer but every now and then a pilot would be failed from the course for making serious mistakes.

Paul rejoined the group later in the morning, not saying much even when John questioned him. They fell back into their routine but something felt off ... they were all waiting for the other shoe to drop and two days later it did.

It wasn't Paul who told them ... by the time Lorne and the others found out he was already halfway to Vancouver. It was breakfast again when Major Baker joined them.

"I need to let you guys know that the review board revoked Captain Merlin's flight status," he said, his tone grimmer than any of them had seen previously. "He's been failed from the training program ... all of you will need to report to training room 6 for a complete debrief of the situation. 0900 hours."

"Yes Sir," Evan echoed his class mates, exchanging glances with Drew as they watched the Major walk away.

"Paul didn't say anything to any of you?" John asked.

"No – nothing," Drew spoke first, Lorne nodding his agreement.

"I asked him specifically if he was okay," Evan added. "He told me not to worry about it. Couldn't get any details out of him."

"Sounds like that's about to change," Cade muttered weakly.

"Yes," John agreed. "Come on guys – let's go get this done."

Half an hour later Lorne sat in one of the front row seats in the training room next to Drew, listening to Captain Reed – Paul's instructor – discussing the flight as they watched the HUD recording.

"Captain Merlin deliberately skipped a number of key safety checks pe-flight," Reed explained. "Any one of them could have resulted in a fatal failure of the planes systems. He then compounded that problem by powering to 83% on taxiway Delta."

Evan winced - that was well beyond the accepted power levels for taxi speeds. What could Paul have been thinking?!

"When questioned, Captain Merlin advised that he'd skipped some of the pre-flight checks in order to cut down on the time taken to be ready for takeoff," Reed continued. "He sped on the taxiway for the same reason. The mission was completed successfully but deliberate decisions to circumvent safety protocols can't be condoned."

"The review board looked not only at this mission but at Captain Merlin's record during the program," Major Baker spoke next. "He's been red ticked for rushing more than once in the past ... it's a pattern of behaviour we can't enable. These are mistakes than could result in the loss of lives, not only Captain Merlin's but his instructor's as well. For this reason the board decided to cease Merlin's training."

Evan frowned ... Paul had never admitted to being red ticked, even during the weekly officers meeting. Lorne had known he'd been told more than once about not rushing but that was it. Being red ticked was serious – it meant your instructors comments regarding whatever mistake you'd made were written into your permanent record in glaring red ink. The instructors called it a red tick but the pilots called it blood on the page. That said it all really – too much blood and you were out.

"He just left?" Cade in particular seemed visibly upset by the news.

"Captain Merlin was given the opportunity to stay at Cold Lake," Baker revealed. "With the slight chance of being accepted back into the program at a later date."

Lorne's eyebrow rose – that wasn't something he'd expected to hear.

"He declined," Baker said simply. "That as well as the chance to make his farewells. He was rightly concerned that this set back would affect his classmates. You all need to learn the lesson this example provides you with and then move on. Captain Merlin was quite adamant that nothing affect the success of anyone in this room."

There were a few more questions before the class was dismissed with the reiteration that they must all refocus on their training. Evan's thoughts did dwell on Paul for a time but the beginning of formation flying was accompanied by an even heavier workload. They were all handed 100+ pages of formation flying regulations with the instruction to learn them all for a test the following day.

By the time they were done with that and the next stack of material took its place, the emotional edge over what had happened to Paul had diminished. None of the class would forget the guy who'd executed cheap magic tricks at the breakfast table almost without thinking while telling them about his lastest conquest. They'd lived in each other's pockets for three months and that wasn't a bond that just disappeared. But they had to go on. If it had happened earlier in the course they would have gotten a replacement ... instead they were down to six men with two thirds of the course still to go.

oOo

"Captain!" Evan looked up from the flight plan he was about to lodge to see Captain Riley walking towards him.

"Crap," he muttered, looking for a plausible get away and not finding it. Since his actions the night of their first F-18 flight he'd studiously avoided Steph Riley, knowing full well that she knew he was avoiding her but doing it just the same.

"Captain," he greeted her congenially.

"Not running away today?" Steph went straight into attack mode.

"Ah ...," Evan glanced around, noting the lack of audience, and sighed. "Listen – I should have apologised for my behaviour ages ago. You put me on the spot but that's no excuse."

"I'm not looking for an apology Evan," Steph smiled, looking a lot friendlier as she relaxed a little.

"You're not?" Evan frowned in confusion.

"No," Steph almost rolled her eyes in exasperation. "I know you rookies don't get a lot of time off but I was thinking maybe next time you do ... sometime soon ... we could have a drink."

"Together?" Evan hated to look like an imbecile but the whole conversation was so not what he'd expected that he was floundering on unfamiliar ground.

"_Yes_ together," Steph insisted, the unspoken "_what are you, an idiot?_" still pretty obvious.

"Just so we're clear here," Evan persisted, "you're asking me out ... on a date?"

"So it seems," blue eyes sparkling, Steph laughed. "Kind of feels like pulling teeth though so I can't be sure."

"Funny," Evan said with a straight face. His mind raced as he considered the situation he'd unwittingly landed himself in. Steph Riley was ... Cade's description came back to him loudly ... hot. She was hot ... maybe a couple of inches shorter than his own 5 ft 9, athletic but feminine, with dark hair that really made her blue eyes stand out vividly. Realising suddenly that he was staring, Evan looked away, flushing slightly. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea," he said quickly.

"It's a drink Evan, not a marriage proposal," Steph didn't give up easily. "Live a little."

"Ah ...," Evan hesitated. He wasn't usually inept with women but he didn't usually consider fellow officers as fair game either. Getting seriously involved with someone wasn't on his agenda ... didn't mean he hadn't enjoyed female company from time to time but the situation was always fully understood by both parties. He was a healthy, red blooded male, not a monk, but he also wasn't given to casual encounters either. It was a difficult line to walk – not one he'd ever considered walking with someone he could run into at work the next morning. Still, one drink couldn't hurt, right?

"Okay – one drink - soon," Lorne finally decided.

"Friday night," Steph grinned. "1900 hours – don't be late."

"No Ma'am," Evan replied, watching with a faint smirk as she turned and strode away again, pausing at the door to glance back at him with a wave before she disappeared outside.

"Shit," he muttered, shaking his head. "Bad idea Evan – _bad idea_."

"What are you muttering to yourself about?" Drew appeared at Evan's shoulder suddenly.

"Don't do that!" Lorne shot him an exasperated look, his heart racing.

"Sorry," Drew was unrepentant. "What's a bad idea?"

"Drinks with Captain Riley," Lorne admitted awkwardly.

"You've got a date with Steph Riley?" Drew asked incredulously.

"Hey, don't act so surprised," Evan protested.

"I'm not surprised at her," Drew chuckled. "I just never thought you'd get distracted by a woman."

"I'm not distracted," Evan insisted. "She put me on the spot and I couldn't say no – not after that stunt I pulled."

"Sure," Drew laughed outright. "You're just being a gentleman here ... no interest in her 'package' at all, right?!"

"Get your mind out of the gutter," Evan retorted. "Not all of us have your approach to the opposite sex ... _Easy_."

"Well – don't be too nice or you'll end up married with six kids," Drew didn't take offence.

"Whatever," Lorne didn't bother saying goodbye – leaving his friend standing in the corridor he headed for the desk to post his flight plan.

oOo

From close quarters they moved into long range formations ... from two planes in the air at one time to four. Patterns were still controlled by the lead plane and then mirrored by the second pair. It might not sound that difficult until you factored in formation flying under true combat conditions where everyone had to maintain radio silence. They flew close enough to be seen, but far enough away to make it a challenge at times.

How did four planes communicate without the pilots being able to speak? Keeping visual was crucial ... the winger had to spot the lead, wait for the appropriate cue, and the follow. Something as simple as changing direction was a carefully orchestrated sequence of movements. The lead turned first, towards his winger. The winger would see the turn, waiting until the other guys nose was pointing at him to start his own turn. The lead would cross under the winger, the rear pair doing exactly the same thing until they all ended up back in the basic square configuration again.

Evan didn't have a problem with long range formations; he'd been up a few times since the first close formation flight and relaxed just as he'd hoped. Long range didn't carry the same emotional punch for him either ... he carried out his first mission without incident, eager to get out there and do it again.

The rest of his class were similarly successful, with only one incident making it to the next officers review. Cade had lost visual on his lead ... that wasn't the mistake though. The mistake had been in failing to let his lead know that he was flying blind – that the lead was vulnerable to attack. It had only been a matter of a few seconds but in combat that was enough to see the end of both planes.

Cade took the red tick as his due and they all learned a valuable lesson. Major Collins reinforced it by telling them none of them would be able to maintain visual 100% of the time ... communication was the key.

The topic fit in well with the theoretical material they were studying on CRM – cockpit resource management. It was widely understood that the primary cause of most aviation accidents was human error. Failures of interpersonal communication, leadership and decision making in the cockpit. Along with reams of notes on the subject they had to read about and watch footage of prior incidents ... specific to the F-18 so they could understand it at the personal level. It was real and the consequences were also real.

oOo

And then it was Friday night and Lorne was regretting his momentary lapse of weakness even as he made his way to the recreation rooms for that drink with Captain Riley.

"Evan," she greeted him with a teasing smile. "I thought for sure you'd come up with some excuse not to turn up."

"Really?" he didn't admit that he'd been very tempted to do just that. Sitting across from her, he glanced around the room, noting the glances they were getting. "I don't know whether to be amused or insulted by that."

"You were pretty obviously reluctant," Steph said more seriously. "You don't have to stay you know ... I'd understand."

"We're here now," Evan said lightly. "Might as well make generating the new rumours I can see forming right now worthwhile. What can I get you?"

"Just a beer," Steph replied.

Nodding, Evan rose and gave their order, bringing two beers back to the table and sitting again.

"You like it here - in Cold Lake?" Steph began with the basic small talk.

"Sure, especially now it's a little warmer," Evan replied. "Feels more like California."

"That's where you were before?" Evan nodded. "They don't have F-18 training programs in the states?"

"They do," Lorne shrugged. "This is the one I got invited to ... it's not like you can say no hoping you'll get another one down the track."

"I guess not," Steph smiled.

She had a way about her that had Evan relaxing as they talked about the base, her joint role assisting the course director as well as managing the ongoing training needs of those assigned permanently to the base providing a point of discussion that had Evan learning a lot about how the base operated.

Steph had been around the base for a couple of years and had plenty of stories to tell too ... they were laughing about one involving the maintenance crew's creative way of bagging a pilot with a knack for causing them considerable work when Evan realised how late it was.

"Man, I have to get back," he said reluctantly.

"Me too," Steph agreed, standing and holding out a hand to him.

He let her pull him up ... they'd had more than just that one drink but neither of them was anywhere near drunk. "Walk me to my room," she said firmly, keeping his hand and urging him to move with her.

"O-kay," Evan replied, amused at her take charge approach.

They walked in silence across the base to the housing section, Steph stopping when they arrived at her door.

"This is me," she said unnecessarily, turning to look up at him. "Thanks for the drink Evan ... and the company."

"You're welcome," he smiled as he added "it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be."

"Very funny," she smacked his arm lightly, laughing when he gave an exaggerated grunt of pain in return. "You're an ass," she told him teasingly.

"But you like me anyway," Evan teased back.

"I do," Steph replied, suddenly serious. Before he could step back, she'd put a hand to either side of his face and urged him down to receive her kiss.

He could have resisted.

But he didn't.

Instead he kissed her back ... and when the first one ended he initiated the next one, this time backing her up against her own door and pressing his body into hers.

Her response was immediate and clear – she gave as good as she got, making her position on where it seemed they were heading _very_ clear.

"Evan," she moaned, wrapping her arms around him and holding on tight. "More."

"Yes Ma'am," he whispered, intent on following that command to the best of his ability. A small part of his brain was trying to alert him to all the reasons he'd been reluctant to go down this kind of road with a fellow officer but the way Steph was running her hands up his back ... under his shirt ... completely drowned that out.

Fumbling their way inside they continued to kiss, the room illuminated only by the moonlight reflecting through the uncurtained window.

Evan did have a moment of chivalry when she broke away, breathlessly inviting him to stay before pulling him back in again.

"Steph," he grabbed her hands and held them tightly as he urged her to look at him. "This can't -,"

She pulled a hand free and pressed it to his lips, stopping him from finishing. "No strings," she said firmly. "I'm no more interested in settling down than you are. That doesn't mean I can't enjoy this," she said openly. "It doesn't always have to mean everything, does it?"

"No," Evan agreed. Taking her hand again he raised them both to his lips and kissed them. "No it doesn't ... as long as you're sure. We can't take it back in the morning."

"I won't want to," Steph said firmly. "I'm sure ... so stop talking and kiss me already."

"You're so bossy," he said in a low tone, kissing the protest from her lips before she could fully voice it.

"You wouldn't be here if I wasn't," she broke the kiss to remind him.

"Good point," Evan replied. Informed decision made, he let himself be drawn into the familiar ritual that was at the same time unfamiliar with a new partner. Aware of how much the intimate act would reveal about him, he took command, controlling even as he let the passion have free reign.

Evan didn't see the world as black and white ... it was shades of colours that sometimes complimented and sometimes clashed. The military was a classic example ... men flying planes in the name of peace - except those planes were loaded down with weapons that could deliver massive destruction without the pilot ever looking into the faces of the victims. To live in that world you had to understand that everything was a balance ... a choice between positive and negative depending on the given day. The brand of sex he was engaging in was the same ... the most intimate of acts undertaken with someone he really didn't know that well ... the intimacy of strangers. Did that make him a hypocrite? Was the answer different because his partner didn't want the greater intimacy implied any more than he did?

Back in his own room in the early hours of morning, lying awake staring at his ceiling, Evan was no closer to an answer than he'd ever been. The only thing he _was_ sure of was that anything more serious wasn't for him. He'd seen his Mom devastated ... broken ... _lost_ without his Dad. He'd been the innocent bystander, he and his sister, caught up in the aftermath of the negative side of real relationships conducted in real life. Feelings like that had consequences he wasn't willing to participate in.

Rolling over, Evan buried his head in his pillow, determined to get some sleep. Like every day at 410 squadron, the next would be a busy one. He needed to have his wits about him to stay in the game.

**Authors Note:**

I have the basic training plane (for pilots wanting to fly jets) for the Canadian Air force being the CT15 Hawk - it's the plane listed now but I couldn't confirm how long that's been the case. I've embellished a fair bit in this chapter, adding things like the CRM from research independent of Jetstream. Still, most of the good stuff, including the fact that students have failed for the reasons Paul Merlin was failed for – one of the students in the show almost met that end himself and was just lucky something else happened to save him from that – came from the show. I used wikipedia for anything else that doesn't sound like it could have come from Jetsteam. It probably doesn't need to be said but I'll say it anyway - there is no kissing in Jetstream.


	4. Darkness calls

**Chapter 4: Darkness calls**

_The jet engines roared loudly in the distance ... he could __**feel**__ the vibrations all the way down to his core. Looking eagerly up at the sky, he bounced on his toes in excitement, desperate to be the first to spot their approach._

"_Where is he?" he thought impatiently. In his young life even a few minutes seemed too long to wait for something as exciting as this._

"_Honey," his Mother's tone was full of love, amusement and pride. "Don't look away now ... he'll be here before - ," she broke off abruptly and he knew immediately. _

_Something was wrong._

"_Mom," his voice was a whisper only he heard as she grabbed his hand absently, her attention focused skywards._

_The planes came in ... out of formation and one of them flying low ... __**too**__ low ... smoke trailing the right wing._

"_Pull up," his words were echoed by his mother's voice, her grip on his hand tightening painfully. "Oh please God, please ...," she said tearfully._

_The plane continued its deadly course, the pilot clearly unable to answer their prayers._

"_Eject," he mouthed the word without sound, and then again, loudly "Eject!" Pulling away from his mother's hand he began running. Faster and faster, crying now as he saw the plane disappear behind the tree line. "EJECT!" He yelled it, still running._

_The boom shook the ground._

_He heard his Mother screaming out in pain and despair ... the sound of agony he'd never forget ..._

_Roaring fire engulfing the sky ... engulfing him ... consuming everything that made them who they were ..._

Evan Lorne shot up in bed abruptly, panting harshly, covered in sweat.

"God," he dropped his head into his hands, trembling in the aftermath of a dream he hadn't had for many years now.

It wasn't even an accurate dream ... he wouldn't have known which plane was his fathers and he certainly wouldn't have been close enough to feel the heat of the fire.

But that wasn't the biggest inaccuracy ... in reality he and his mother hadn't been there the day his father had been killed. They'd been at home none the wiser, going about their daily life as though everything were all right ... unaware of the fate that had already been dealt to them. A part of Evan always regretted that ... that his father had died in front of thousands of strangers while his family – the people who knew him and loved him, the ones most affected by it – were at home not knowing they should start mourning him. Perhaps that was why his subconscious always insisted on placing him firmly within the nightmare ... a witness to an event he could never escape ... in dreams at least. In real life he'd managed to accept that history was what it was, that things couldn't be changed.

That not everything was within his control.

Glancing over at his bedside clock Lorne groaned at the time illuminated there ... 03:27. It was early but there was no way he was getting any more sleep that night. He never did after one of _those_ dreams.

Hauling himself out of bed he pulled on some track pants, a shirt, and running shoes and quietly left his quarters.

Running hadn't helped in his dream and it didn't help now ... but it gave him something to do and at the end of the day that was about all he could expect.

oOo

Four months into fighter pilot training and the rookies had gotten used to the way the stakes continually changed, escalating as each new element was added.

This time it was the tactical phase – turning jet pilots into jet fighters. Making use of radar, weapons and a tactical mindset to demonstrate they could be what a fighter pilot was _supposed_ to be.

Did they have what it took to answer the call to arms that happened every time an intruder snuck into Canadian airspace? Because, be they smugglers up to no good, an airliner that'd innocently drifted off course, or worse, the F-18's would be the ones sent up to investigate. And they'd do it by going from a standing start to full fuel, weapons armed, and in the air inside of five minutes.

They were called scrambles and they happened regularly. It was a job every fighter pilot was trained to do because ultimately the primary task of Cold Lake was to watch the country's back – to defend Canada and her airspace. Guys who'd been around for years had scrambled hundreds of times to intercept suspicious aircraft ... the rookies who made it to the end of their training would be doing the same, some of them answering alerts in only a matter of months. They had to understand what was required.

Evan and his classmates listened attentively as Major Collins explained their first tactical mission.

An instrument only intercept.

Using their radar alone to intercept a bandit from head on, turning and falling behind to 1000 feet without being spotted, and then flashing their opponent with the plane's identification light.

Catching up with a bandit wasn't just about speed ... if it was the F-18 would win every time. The Hornet was powerful enough to be up to whatever its pilot required of it. The big challenge was learning to direct all that power so that you arrived at the right place at the right time. For that you needed radar ... on the ground and in the cockpit.

"This is more like it," Neil commented excitedly as the rookies walked from the training room after the session. "Getting up there and fighting it out with the enemy. Like the Red Barron."

"It's not a game Sunshine," John said sternly. "Some of these guys have intercepted public airliners straying into Canadian airspace ... if they'd been ordered to they would have had to fire on civilians."

"You're right," Neil's shoulders visibly slumped as he took the implied criticism. "I didn't mean ...," he trailed off awkwardly.

"I know," John slapped Neil's shoulder lightly. "You just have to watch what you say Neil ... show a little respect for history."

Neil nodded, his expression thoughtful.

Evan listened to the two men talking, not feeling the need to add his two cents worth. He always felt a little uncomfortable when talk of specific engagements began. To him things like Bosnia were held up as examples for what _could_ happen – they made the decision to apply military force sound simple when it was anything but. Made it impersonal when at the heart it was about individuals and what they'd suffered, endured, or been asked to do.

They had plenty of time to appreciate history as airborne tactics were presented and discussed in the days leading up to their first intercept flight. They also learned everything they ever wanted to know about radar and then some.

The first thing being that radar wasn't as simple as a layman might expect ... the green blipping light flashing a warning that an enemy was approaching was a stalwart of every submarine movie Evan had ever watched. In reality there were numerous methods for sending out a radar signal and receiving it back, as evidenced by the inches thick book that talked about them.

Of course they didn't need to know about all of them ... they just had to understand the concepts and the specific systems used by the F-18's. The AN/APG 73 Hughes I band pulse-Doppler radar system designed for both air-to-air and air-to-surface missions. It incorporated search, track, and track-while-scan modes for complete look-down shoot-down capability as well as Doppler beam sharpened sector and patch mapping, medium range synthetic aperture radar, fixed and moving ground target track and sea surface search capability. And that was just the overview ... the detail was impressive and complex and had to be understood before they could effectively employ the systems in live flight.

But hey, what was another hundred or so pages of information to absorb after the thousands they'd already covered?!

Although Lorne had gone up with each of the instructors a number of times, when it was time for one of those 'firsts' it always ended up being Major Baker who accompanied him. His first attempt at intercepting was no different.

"He's away," Major Baker adviced as Lorne taxied down the runway. For intercept flights trainee and instructor took off after the bandit – one of the other instructors flying solo – was already in the air.

"Clear for takeoff," Lorne announced, pulling forward on the stick. "Here we go with the cans," he added, firing the burners.

They took off, heading in the same direction as their bandit – today it was Captain Reed, their safety officer, call sign Bean.

When it came to finding a target, it was a _big_ sky but luckily Lorne had his own wingman of sorts. Radar control back at the base, watching every pilot's back, deciphering the various bleeps and blips so that they could deliver the pilot to the right patch of sky.

From there it would be up to Evan and his F-18 radar to do the rest. It wasn't just scanning for a needle in a haystack ... like with formation flying there was a formula and Lorne was good at executing those. It was all about trusting them and trusting yourself ... well, that and being able to run formulas in your head _really_ fast.

"We are 40 miles out," Lorne confirmed communications from radar control.

Out that far away from the target there wasn't a lot to see ... just a sea of clouds and the sun blaring down from a monotonous blue sky. It all looked pretty much the same no matter what direction you were looking in. An experienced pilot might spot a bandit under those conditions but a rookie wouldn't stand a chance.

"Alpha five one setup number 1 ... tape's on, fight's on," Captain Reed announced over the comms that Lorne's first intercept attempt was a go.

"Five two fight's on," Evan confirmed.

He scanned the sky, craning his head to increase his range of sight ... and saw nothing.

Not that it mattered since the day's assignment was to use his radar to intercept the bandit.

"Fight for your benchmarks," Baker encouraged from the backseat, echoing Lorne's thoughts.

Running his own calculations and relying on them ... that's all he had to do.

Piece of cake, right?

At 40 miles out Evan had the F-18 eight miles left of the target ... benchmark one – check. At 10 miles out he started his turn towards the target that was still approaching him ... benchmark two – check. At 3 miles out his nose was pointing dead ahead at the bandit ... benchmark three – check.

The flight path and speed established then allowed for him to sweep around behind Captain Reed's aircraft and creep up on his tail ... and benchmark four – check.

Lorne executed the manoeuvre perfectly, dropping behind the other F-18 at a distance of 1000 feet. Flashing his identification light to signal the successful intercept, Evan couldn't help the grin that swamped him.

"Great job," Major Baker called out, sounding almost gleeful from his instructor's chair.

"Thank you Sir," Lorne replied, trying for an even and business like tone.

"Let's see if that was just a fluke," Baker said. "Alpha five two, go again."

"Five one, resetting," Reed confirmed. A few moments later he spoke again. "Alpha five one setup number 2 ... tape's on, fight's on"

"Five two fight's on," Evan confirmed again.

As before he chased his benchmarks, hitting each precisely. The idea was that the bandit would continue on its flight line, unaware that you were stalking it from the other direction. A good intercept would have you on its tail with weapon's locked before it knew you were there. A bad intercept was like sending out a gold engraved invitation for a party at your location.

"_Where's the bandit?_" he thought, wondering for a moment if he'd messed up one of his calculations as he dropped to what he'd thought was 1000 feet behind the target. That was the real challenge ... you were travelling 25 miles every 2.5 minutes closing on the target at a rate of 2000 feet per second. Calculating lateral separation involved using the target aspect and multiplying it by the distance. If you were out by as little as 5 degrees you'd miss the target by 3 miles ... outside visibility range.

"Ah, there you are," he said under his breath, sighting his target in the blinding sunlight. Flashing his identification light as before he grinned when Reed acknowledged the intercept.

"Excellent work Lorne," Baker complimented him. "That's it for today ... take us back to base."

"Yes Sir," Lorne dropped his left wing, sweeping the plane down in a long angled u-turn. "That was pretty cool," he said once they were heading in the right direction.

"Nice work Lorne," Reed's voice over the comm interrupted them before Major Baker could reply. Looking to his right, Evan saw the other F-18 pilot drop his craft in to fly side by side.

"Thanks," Evan said, doing a visual with the universal thumbs up to the other pilot.

"We ever had a rookie make both intercepts first time out?" Reed asked Baker.

"I'd have to check the records but I think not," Baker replied. "At least not in my time on base."

"But I'm not a real rookie," Lorne felt compelled to remind both instructors. "Done lots of flying in the Falcon similar enough to be a real advantage."

"The boy's modest," Baker said to Reed. "Probably blushing right now in fact."

Reed laughed. "You might fly like an Ace Lorne but you really have to work on that fighter pilot bravado if you want to fit in with your new squadron once you're done being a rookie."

"I'll work on it," Evan grinned, the implicit assumption from both his instructors that of course he'd pass the F-18 fighter training course just the kind of boost that bravado needed.

"We'll help you with that back on base," Baker added.

Lorne barely refrained from groaning audibly. "I'm sure that's not really necessary Sir," he tried in a hopeful voice.

"Ah but it _is_ fun," Baker replied with a chuckle. "Suck it up _Love_ ... and take the kudos where you can get it because sure as hell the first time you stuff up I'm gonna be up there making an example of you."

"Yes Sir," Evan said reluctantly.

Jet landed and squared away, Lorne followed his instructors across the tarmac back to flight departures and arrivals – the place where pilots converged while they got ready and waited for jets to be cleared for use. The place they returned to get rid of their gear and give first reactions while they waited for their flight data to be downloaded for assessment.

"Two for two from the rookie," Baker announced loudly as they walked into the office. Most of Lorne's team wasn't present but Cade and Marcus were both there, gearing up for their first intercept flights.

"No way!" Cade grinned, holding out a palm for a high five. Lorne shrugged uncomfortably, before slapping Cade's palm, his own smile feeling a little weak.

"All the flying I did for Dryden FRC really helped," he downplayed his success. "It's not exactly cheating but I'm not taking credit for a first time home run here."

"Well congratulations anyway buddy," Marcus stepped forward and slapped Lorne across the shoulder blades, grinning as Evan staggered forward a pace before straightening.

"Thanks guys," Evan returned. It was one of the things about fighter school that he wished he could talk up more. That had been genuine delight and pride on the faces of both his class mates. They were stoked that Evan had made both intercepts first time ... his success reflected on their whole class and each of them felt the glow of that. There was no competition between the rookies ... they weren't competing against each other for a place on a squadron – they were competing against themselves. Any success, their own or reflected from their classmates, helped them all to feel confident.

The rest of the class completed their intercepts with varying degrees of success. Cade, Drew and John made one successful intercept, Marcus and Neil came close but came in too fast on their second attempts and were made before they could get into position behind their bandits.

"You're the fighter, you control the intercept," Major Baker said during their combined debrief.

The learning curve at 410 squadron was steep ... under that kind of pressure everybody made mistakes and that was fine. As long as they didn't make the same mistakes next time ... because if they did it could very well spell the end of their time with the Cougars.

oOo

"I hear you nailed your intercepts today," Evan looked up to see Steph Riley grinning down at him. Since their first 'date' the two had managed another two dates, falling easily into a casual relationship that suited each of them.

Steph had made herself available as great company when Evan needed a break but didn't take offence when he couldn't make time for her. And it wasn't just an act – she understood that his training and study came first. He'd come a long way to be where he was and Steph knew that nothing would be allowed to get in his way. If she wanted to spend time with Evan, enjoy a level of intimacy with him, then she had to accept that.

And she did ... although a part of her had begun to wonder whether settling down was _really_ as bad as she'd always believed.

"News travels fast," Evan said wryly, waving a hand at the seat across from him in an invitation for her to join him. He'd brought some reading down to the recreation room with the intention of grabbing something to eat and studying too. He could afford to put the work aside for an hour or so.

"It does when a rookie breaks all the records like you've been doing," Steph replied.

"Damn," Evan muttered, "that's just ... _wrong_."

"Why is it wrong?" Steph frowned. "Everybody thinks it's great."

"Yeah, except that I'm not exactly a rookie," Evan shot back impatiently. "Doesn't anyone here know anything about F-16s? Flying one of those, even an experimental one, isn't like dusting crops. I've got a shit load of very similar experience to draw on that none of the other rookies have."

"So what you're saying is that it's not fair to count your performances against the records?" Steph asked to clarify her understanding.

"Exactly!" Evan sat back in his chair, nodding his agreement.

"Clearly you don't see it the way the others do," Steph said almost gently. "They're all beyond thrilled to be a part of this particular class because your class number will go up on the record wall ... _their_ class number will be up on that wall. The success of one of you is a success for _all_ of you."

"I _know_ that," Lorne returned, running a hand through his hair. "I just wish it was all prefaced with a reminder that 'Captain Evan Lorne has flown a Falcon' ... what I'm doing isn't that impressive. What the rest of them are doing _is_."

"This is why we chose you to be our Rookie Most Wanted," Steph looked across at him fondly. "You're just so ..._nice_!" She grinned when Evan groaned in dismay.

"Don't do that," he pleaded. "I thought I'd almost lived that one down."

"When you leave the country for good, then you can live it down," Steph replied. "Well ...not live it down as such, but you won't have to hear about it anymore."

"Yeah ... funny," Evan mock glared at her.

"You wanna come back to my place later?" Steph made the invitation casually.

Evan looked down at his books before returning his gaze to her. "I'm sorry Steph ... I really have to finish reading those tonight, otherwise ...," he trailed off, feeling awkward and unsure of what to say. It was situations like this that had him thinking he really shouldn't have started something he wasn't sure he wanted to continue. Well, of course he _wanted_ to continue – their first night together had been pretty hot – he just wasn't really up to the extra effort required to maintain even the casual relationship he now found himself a part of.

"It's okay Evan," Steph said with an easy smile. "No strings, remember ... and certainly no apologies required."

"I'll take a raincheck?" Evan offered questioningly.

"Done," Steph agreed, getting to her feet. "I'll leave you to your work then ... I'd hate to delay the date of that raincheck."

"Thanks," Evan grabbed her hand as she passed him, pressing a quick kiss to the back before letting her go. He watched her for a few moments before returning his attention to his books, missing Steph looking back from the door and visibly deflating when she saw that he'd already forgotten her.

oOo

He was _born_ to fly in the inky blackness.

There was no other explanation for the ease with which Lorne undertook and completed his second intercept mission, this one conducted at night. Cold Lake was a flat plain stretching out for miles in all directions ... there was _nothing_ there except the base itself. When it got dark it got _really_ dark ... and with the new moon night time was as black as it got.

It should have been hard ... and for all the other rookies it _was_.

With good reason.

Doing a mission in the darkness meant the absence of a visible horizon to orient yourself to. The only lights you had were the ones on your jet and they hardly cut the darkness at all. Worse than that, lights on the ground looked a hell of a lot like stars ... if Evan imagined what flying in space would be like, a night run in the Hornet had to be pretty close. Up and down still there but pretty much interchangeable as far as visual perception went ... surrounded by a blackness that was only broken by the presence of tiny pinpoints of lights that could have come from anything, any distance away.

It should have been disorienting ... before their first night run Major Baker himself talked about night flight disorientation. How it had claimed the lives of pilots throughout history. In the darkness it was easy for your brain to trick you as you struggled to make sense of your location in a world with few external pointers to help you out. It could make you think you were turning when you weren't. It could make a runway seem longer or shorter than it really was. And if you fixated on a specific light coming in to land you could become confused into thinking the jet was moving in ways it wasn't.

They were warned about the dangers and rightly all of them felt a little nervous on the nights they were scheduled for their first run in the dark. If that wasn't bad enough they'd be taking off and landing in two ship formation. Lorne wasn't sure if it was meant to be reassuring, but hearing Major Collins himself say he'd never gotten comfortable with that didn't exactly inspire Evan's confidence.

So, walking out to his assigned F-18 in the last minutes of dusk, Lorne wasn't sure what to expect. Major Baker strode beside him, the two silent as they approached the aircraft. Evan did his checks inside of ten minutes, keeping their 'bandit' for the evening, Major Collins this time, waiting only five minutes instead of the usual ten.

"Sir, mind if I ask you something?" Evan asked as he waited to get clearance from flight control.

"Sure," Baker replied.

"Is there a reason why it's always you instructing the first time I do something new?" Lorne asked quickly. He'd wondered about it a few times before but wasn't sure it was the kind of thing he should ask. In the end he'd decided if Baker didn't want to explain he'd just tell Evan to mind his own business ... which would be fine.

"You're a novelty around here," Baker replied with a hint of amusement. "I'm guessing you're not aware of the fact that you're the first non Canadian to be invited to 410 squadron. Usually we assign the international pilots to other squads after they've done some F-18 training in their own countries. You've got an impressive record. I guess I'm just curious to see what you can do ... first up before you've transitioned your prior experience to the Hornet."

"Oh," Lorne wasn't sure what to make of that. "Ah ... thank you Sir."

"Any time," Evan could hear the smirk in Baker's voice.

"Alpha five one you are cleared for takeoff," the confirmation from flight control came through before Lorne could say more.

Coordinating their efforts, Lorne and Collins took off in synchronised fashion, powering into the sky just as the sun's last sliver of light disappeared along with the horizon.

Evan craned his head from side to side as they reached 20,000 feet.

It was dark ... _really_ dark.

But he didn't mind ... in fact, it was invigorating in a way Lorne hadn't expected. He'd done night flying before but only a couple of times and nowhere as dark as Cold Lake.

"All right son?" Baker asked from the back seat.

"Yes Sir," Evan returned promptly. Collins broke away to become the bandit while Lorne maintained their course.

"Alpha five one, bandit is 40 miles away at two o'clock," radar control reported a few minutes later.

"Alpha five one, set up number 1 ... fight's on, tape's on," Collins reported to confirm they were good to proceed.

It was all down to instruments. To a belief in your machine, your knowledge and what your senses were telling you.

The first two were no different than a day time intercept and Evan had already nailed those. The last was the challenge but strangely Evan didn't find it so. It was nothing he could pin point ... no spot of light or hint of grey to break the darkness ... nothing that he recognised and aligned himself too. It was almost as if there was something inside him ... his own internal compass that had him knowing exactly where he was, even in the absence of anything to confirm it.

It wasn't a challenge to work out which way was up ... he just _knew_.

"Ten miles away and beginning turn," he reported, smoothly shifting the stick to change heading.

"Three miles away and we have bandit dead ahead," he said moments later.

"We are on the bandit's six, lateral separation 1000 feet," Evan grinned as he flicked the identification lights on. They blared sharply in the darkness, alerting Collins that he'd been locked onto.

"Nice work," Baker had been silent for the entire trip. Now his tone was almost thoughtful as he gave out the positive feedback.

"Alpha five two, go again?" Collins asked.

"I'm pretty confident our boy can repeat that performance," Baker replied. "Let's take it back to base and give everyone an early minute."

Lorne changed heading, taking the F-18 back to Cold Lake. When Major Baker remained silent, Evan couldn't take it.

"Is something wrong Sir?" he asked worriedly.

"No!" Baker shot back. "No – sorry Evan. That was a beyond superior performance. Couldn't have done it smoother myself."

"Thank you Sir," Evan's tone was still puzzled.

"You applied for NASA didn't you?" Baker asked out of the blue.

"I did Sir," Lorne replied. "Made the short list but ... well, the competition was pretty stiff."

"I was just thinking it's a shame you couldn't have taken the people making that decision up for a night flight," Baker surprised him by saying. "You'd be a natural in space ... if you ever got the chance to fly something up there."

"Maybe next time Sir," Lorne replied, making it clear he hadn't given up on that dream yet.

"That's the spirit," Baker chuckled. "You know what the squadron's motto is, don't you?"

"_Noctivaga_," Lorne replied.

"Know what it means?" Baker continued.

"Ah," and suddenly Evan was grinning, "wandering by night, Sir".

"Kind of appropriate that you're here, isn't it?" Major Baker pointed out.

"I'm glad to be here Sir," Lorne replied. He meant it too ... at that moment in time there was nowhere else he wanted to be than in an F-18 surrounded by the darkness. "Permission to run a few patterns Sir?" he asked hopefully. It was a tall order ... the risk of becoming disoriented heightened with deliberately challenging up and down.

"Knock yourself out," Baker returned with audible confidence.

Evan tested that internal compass as he did a series of horizontal rolls, following that up with an inside loop and a three turn spin. Finishing up with an inverted straight flight that he transitioned into an inverted inside spin he righted the plane and continued on their original heading back to base.

"Was that all instruments?" Baker asked curiously.

"Ah ... some of it," Evan admitted. "The rest was just ... I can't explain it Sir. I just ... know where we are ... somehow."

"That's gonna make even a few of the veteran's envious son," Baker replied.

"Maybe it can be our secret then Sir?" Evan suggested hopefully.

Baker was silent for a moment. "Sure," he said finally. "If that's what you want."

"It is," Evan said simply. "Thank you Sir."

"I'll put a note on your file though," Baker said. "Just in case one of those NASA types comes looking."

"I'd appreciate that Sir," Evan said with a smile.

The side by side landing with Major Collins went off without a hitch. Lorne followed the two instructors back to the flight centre, sure that he'd learned something valuable about himself that night.

Usually the rookies only hung around the flight centre if they were scheduled for a flight themselves. Night flights were being done one per night so the place was deserted. Lorne got out of his gear, sat through a flight debrief that was nothing more than a formality, and then retired for the night.

oOo

Drew's night flight wasn't for another two days ... Evan knew he was worried about it but couldn't get him to articulate why. The best he could do was help the other man run through all the procedures, practice his lateral distance calculations and then wish him luck.

Lorne was in his room studying two hours or so after dusk when someone knocked rapidly on his door.

"Drew?" Evan frowned as the other mans obvious agitation. Urging him to come in, Evan closed the door and then turned to look at his friend. "You okay?"

"Apart from the fact that I'm probably about to get kicked out, I'm just great," Drew replied grimly.

"What happened?" Lorne asked.

"What didn't happen!" Drew shot back. Pacing in the space between bed and desk, he shook his head. "It was a disaster man ... an absolute disaster. I'm only here to tell you about it because Major Wilson took over control."

"Damn," Evan muttered. That was a rare event – an instructor taking control from the rookie. "Look, sit down and just tell me what happened. Maybe it's not as bad as you're thinking."

"It is," Drew insisted but he sat down on Evan's desk chair, scrubbing a hand through his dark hair and leaving it a mess.

"Start at the beginning," Lorne suggested, moving away from the door to sit on his bed.

Haltingly Drew told his story. Take off had gone fine but as soon as he'd been in the air surrounded by darkness he'd become uncomfortable. "I couldn't tell which way was up," he admitted. "It was so fucking dark and what little light I _could_ pick up looked like stars to me. Everything looked the same." He shrugged as he made eye contact with Evan. "I was up there with the course director in the back seat and I knew I was struggling but I didn't want to admit it so I just kept going."

"What happened next?" Evan kept his tone casual and non judgemental.

"I completely screwed up the intercept," Drew admitted. "Collision course screwed up ... there was _nothing_ there and then suddenly the other Hornet was looming up in front of us. I froze ... if Major Wilson hadn't taken back control we wouldn't be here talking about it." Drew laughed harshly. "You should have been there during the debrief. I swear both of them looked pale ... Collins said it's the closest he's come to pulling the ejection lever in years. Watching them run the numbers was humiliating."

Lorne nodded, knowing exactly what Drew meant. The flight tape was a record of absolutely everything ... how much left and right rudder, how much power ... hell, sometimes it seemed like it even measured how comfortable you were – how close to the edge you were feeling.

"It was all me," Drew admitted. "Too much power on the turn in, completely screwed up the calcs, everything just drilling us to that point of almost impact." He sighed. "I completely suck ...,"

Lorne sat silently ... mind turning over the possible things he could say to help Drew gain some perspective.

"Well, don't you have some kind of comment?" Drew demanded.

"Everybody makes mistakes Drew," Lorne pointed out seriously. "You -,"

"You don't," Drew shot back, interrupting him.

"Hey, I've made plenty of mistakes," Evan returned impatiently. "You've got no idea _how_ many ... I'm getting fucking tired of reminding everyone about that. And anyway, this isn't about me, it's about you!"

Drew sighed. "You're right," he said in a low tone, looking at the floor. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Evan waited until Drew looked up again before continuing. "They'll give you another chance," he said.

"I know," Drew said. "That's what I'm worried about."

"Look, it was your first time up there in the dark," Lorne pointed out. "You didn't know what to expect. Now you do. You'll get it next time."

"And if I don't I'm out," Drew concluded grimly.

They both knew it was true ... make a mistake once and you were made to sit through it and learn from it. Make it again and you'd hear those words no rookie wanted to hear ... that they were ceasing your training. Translation – goodbye and don't let the door hit you on the way out.

"You can do this," Lorne insisted. "You're a great pilot Drew ... up till now you've had a clean run ... you wanna be impressed by something, be impressed by that!"

"And it'll count for nothing if I can't do this," Drew pointed out.

"So you'll do it!" Evan shot back. "Where's that positive attitude? Because, mate, this isn't you."

"You're right," Drew groaned, running his hands through his hair again. "I built this whole thing up in my head, you know? No reason for it really."

"Then we'll just unbuild it," Lorne replied purposefully. "When are you scheduled to go up again?"

"Monday night," Drew replied. "Four days".

"Perfect," Evan grinned suddenly. "That gives us the weekend to find someone who'll lend us a plane for a night. And I know just the person to help us with that."

"What are you planning?" Drew asked worriedly.

"Just leave it all up to me," Evan returned, getting up from the bed. "Now get out of here – go get some rest and forget about this for now. We've got more theory sessions tomorrow and I don't want you falling asleep at your desk."

Drew grimaced but let himself be guided into action.

Lorne closed the door again and headed for the phone.

"Steph?" he spoke as soon as there was an answer on the other end. "I've got a favour to ask you."

oOo

Saturday afternoon Drew and Evan sat in the backseat of Steph Riley's 4 wheel drive, on their way to a local airfield. Steph had come through, calling in a favour of her own with someone she knew who worked there. She'd granted Evan's favour but insisted on coming along.

"This is gonna be boring," Evan tried again to convince her to just drop them off. "It's not even gonna be dark for a few hours yet."

"I'm looking forward to seeing you fly," Steph said simply.

Drew chuckled and Evan shot him a quick glare that didn't dissuade him. "Gotta see whether he really is _that_ good with his hands?" he joked.

"Oh, I already _know_ the answer to that one," Steph winked at Evan in the rear view mirror when his eyes shot to hers.

"Hey!" he protested, desperately trying not to blush.

At the same time Drew burst into outright laughter. "That is way too much information," he got out.

"See if I go easy on you now," Evan muttered under his breath, struggling not to laugh himself. It was good seeing Drew relaxed and more his usual, easy going self, even if it had come at Evan's own expense.

In short order they arrived at the airfield, typical of such places with a few hangars, a main office and a small collection of basic aircraft. The one they were being granted free use of was a Piper PA-28 Cherokee - all-metal, unpressurized, four-seat, single-engine piston-powered with low-mounted wings and tricycle landing gear.

"Uncle Jimmie," Steph greeted the owner of the flight school with a familiar smile. He was one of those 'weathered' individuals ... of indeterminate age beyond an 'above 50' label, tall and lanky with the look of someone who spent a great deal of time outside squinting into the sun.

"Stephie," Jimmie grinned as he pulled her into a fond hug before setting her back at arm's length. "You look thin – have you been skipping meals again?"

"You're just as bad as Dad," Steph protested in a tone that suggested it wasn't the first time she'd heard similar accusations.

"_Uncle_?" Evan muttered, raising an eyebrow at Drew.

"I guess it pays to have family in the right places," Drew whispered back.

"Uncle Jimmie," Steph grabbed Evan's arm and drew him forward, with Drew following along. "These are the students I told you about. This is Evan Lorne and Andrew Rider."

"Sir," Evan greeted the older man respectfully. "We really appreciate you letting us use your facilities, especially on such short notice."

"Steph doesn't ask for many favours," Jimmie replied. "Besides, I'm looking forward to seeing a real pilot put the Piper through it's paces."

Evan shot Steph a surprised look but was wise enough not to comment on that. "We'll be careful Sir," he said instead.

Nodding, Jimmie led them out across the tarmac to the plane that would be theirs for the day ... it was a far cry from a Hornet but still Evan was looking forward to it. The beauty of using a training plane was that it had dual control ... when they got to the night flying portion of their day Evan could retake control if it became necessary. Putting himself in the role of instructor felt a little strange but Drew seemed confident in that at least.

Jimmie ran through the pre-flight checks with Evan and Drew repeating each of them so they'd be personally satisfied the plane checked out.

Then, gathering Steph up in a one armed hug, he returned to the office and left them to it.

"Nice guy," Drew commented.

"Yeah," Evan agreed.

"Steph must really like you a lot," Drew continued, his tone casual as he assessed Evan's reaction.

"Ah ... I guess she must," Evan grimaced, uncomfortable. "Can we not talk about that right now?"

"Sure," Drew agreed. Looking at the plane he grinned suddenly. "You wanna go first ... see what she can do?"

"Never in doubt," Evan laughed, jumping up onto the wing on the co-pilot's side and opening the single door. Clambering over to the pilot's position he strapped himself in as Drew climbed in after him. "O-kay," Evan muttered, switching everything on and getting the engine started.

Within minutes they were air borne, the pace feeling so leisurely it was almost like floating ... it was an odd feeling, not unlike driving on the freeway doing 100 and then having to slow to 50.

Evan got a feel for the plane first, just flying some basic patterns and testing her manoeuvrability. "Hold on tight," he announced, swiftly shifting into more challenging patterns.

Double stall turn, eight point roll, figure M, reverse outside loop, inverted reverse Cuban eight, and more.

One after another Evan executed all the aerial drills most acrobatic pilots could do with precision and a flair that was uniquely his. Drew said nothing as he was carried along on an unexpected high adrenalin ride. When Lorne finally returned to a normal flight path and headed back towards the air field, he spoke.

"You never mentioned being a member of an aerial acrobatics team."

"That's because I'm not," Lorne returned blandly. "I ... took an interest in it a while back ... did some classes. Feels good to cut loose every now and then."

"Is that where you flew formation?" Drew asked curiously.

"Yeah," Evan admitted. "Of course it's a lot slower than doing it in the Hornet - just barely compares."

"So the aerobic thing is what ... just a hobby?" Drew queried.

"Sounds about right," Lorne agreed.

"And that's all there is to it?" Drew persisted, sceptical. "Because we're not exactly talking standard stuff here. Most pilots can't even do half of those patterns. Seems like more than just an interest to me."

"Leave it," Evan shot his co-pilot a quick look before returning his focus to the front window.

"Okay," Drew replied easily, settling back in his seat, keeping the rest of his questions to himself. Over the last four months he'd learned not to push Lorne when he didn't want to talk. It was like pushing at a blank wall – a huge, heavy and impossible to move wall.

Evan landed the plane and taxied to the refuelling pumps.

"Your turn," he said lightly.

oOo

Andrew took his turn in the pilot's seat with Evan at his co-pilot, showing that he knew a few manoeuvres of his own. As afternoon turned into early evening and night announced its impending arrival they regrouped in Jimmie's office for dinner.

"Nice flying," Jimmie said like he was commenting on the weather.

"That's an understatement," Steph muttered under her breath.

"Hey, pride of the air force and all that," Evan and Drew shared a smug grin. "We had to make it look good."

"Well, you succeeded and then some," Steph replied.

"As I understand it the real reason you wanted to come here is still to come?" Jimmie asked.

"Drew just needs some familiarity with night flying before he goes up in the Hornet again," Evan explained.

"What he's not saying is that I sucked the last time I went up," Drew admitted honestly.

"You got any experience instructing?" Jimmie asked Evan curiously.

"Ah ... not exactly," Evan replied honestly. "I was just going to ...," he trailed off. "I'd welcome any advice in that department Sir," he told Jimmie.

"Let me go up instead," Jimmie suggested succinctly. "I _am_ a qualified night instructor."

"Gladly," Evan slumped back in his chair, grinning in relief. "I'm more than happy to hand this one over to an expert."

Jimmie quickly took over after that, taking Drew to another office for some theory, Piper Cherokee style. As the two walked across the tarmac a short time later, Evan stood at the office window watching.

"He'll be fine," Steph put a hand to Evan's shoulder.

"I know it and you know it," Evan agreed. "It just needs for him to know it. Stuff like this gets in your head ... the mental game can bring you down just as easily as a lack of skill." Turning away from the window, Evan drew Steph into his arms and hugged her close. "Thank you for this," he said.

"You're welcome," she replied, leaning back and smiling up at him. "I was seriously impressed with your flying ... so was my Uncle and that's saying a lot."

"I've had a lot of practice," Evan dismissed his skill with his usual modesty. He hesitated a moment before speaking. "You called in a family favour because I asked ... I ah ... I hope it doesn't cost you too much down the track."

"It bothers you, doesn't it?" Steph sighed, shifting out of his arms to take up a position beside the window. "Don't worry about it Evan – I'm not expecting anything in return."

"That's not what I meant!" Evan protested. "I'm just ... concerned that we're getting a little out of our depth here. I'm a career soldier Steph ... even this early in my career I know that. Sure, I'll be here for at least a year post graduating but then I'll be going home to be posted who knows where."

"You're concerned that _I'm_ getting out of my depth," Steph countered. Turning, she faced him with her arms folded across her chest. "I'm not going to pretend I don't care about you and if that's a problem for you then you should speak up now."

"I care about you too," Evan said quietly. "Casual doesn't equate with callous and I'm a little hurt that you'd think otherwise. It's important to me to set the right expectation here ... that's all. This isn't about using each other for sex ... but it's not about picket fences and 2.5 kids either."

"Stop worrying," Steph stepped forward and took his face between her hands, drawing his eyes to hers. "I understand you Evan Lorne ... I haven't taken out a subscription to Brides Monthly and I'm not likely to, not even for you, no matter how cute you are. Your future is still entirely your own. Is that clear enough for you?"

"Pretty much," Evan smiled. "My ego's certainly been reduced back to a manageable size."

Pulling his head down, Steph kissed him – passionate and purposeful, it had his blood going by the time she broke away.

"Not so fast," he said in a low tone, pulling her back in and showing her some of the upside of getting involved with Evan Lorne ... well, within the bounds of standing in her Uncle's office while his friend took the flight that could define his future career.

oOo

"Thanks for doing this," Drew said, glancing over at Jimmie as he readied the Piper Cherokee for takeoff.

"I understand what it's like to want something and fear falling short," Jimmie said. When Drew looked to him in surprise he chuckled. "You're assuming I was always a flight instructor but I've been somewhere close to where you are now."

"Did you make it through?" Drew asked.

"No," Jimmie admitted. "My body got the better of my ambition ... I couldn't handle high G's and in those days they didn't have g-suits as good as today."

"I'm sorry," Drew said softly.

"I made the best of what I _could_ do," Jimmie explained. "For me, that was enough. Would it be for you?"

"I don't know," Drew admitted. "My family is so proud of me ... and to be honest I never wanted to be anything other than a fighter pilot. I have no idea what I'll do if I can't be that."

The conversation paused as Drew powered up the plane and took them down the runway, achieving take off speed and easing them into the sky. His thoughts were on what he was doing but in a background kind of way, the upfront in your face ones solely focussed on Jimmie's words.

"Does the Hornet scare you?" Jimmie asked curiously.

"No!" Drew said immediately. Sighing, he nodded. "I guess a little ... well, maybe not the Hornet itself. It's stuffing things up in a spectacular fashion that scares me."

"Fear is a fighter pilots real worst enemy," Jimmie said.

"Yeah," Drew had heard that before and only recently begun to appreciate what it meant.

"Flying without fear isn't exactly smart either," the older man pointed out. "Every plane is unforgiving in the hands of a pilot who doesn't respect it. Feeling fear and doing it anyway is a factor of the job."

"There is no bravery without fear?" Drew questioned.

"Something like that." Jimmie was silent for a moment, letting Drew set their course through the night sky in a wide arc around his airfield. "Do you think your friend flies without fear?" he asked curiously.

"I never really thought about it," Drew admitted in surprise. "I guess I _was_ assuming something like that. Evan is just so ... competent and confident but in a modest and unassuming way that makes it impossible to be anything other than impressed. He's ... solid ... dependable."

"I took the liberty of doing a bit of research after Steph asked me to help you," Jimmie revealed. "I still know a few people ... asked a few questions about this Yankee fly boy who has my niece asking for help."

"Find out anything interesting?" Drew couldn't help but ask. He and Evan were friends and Drew certainly thought the other man had let him in more than the other rookies but he was still very much a closed book. Evan said little and kept a lot hidden, doing it all with a good natured smile and a humbleness that made it impossible to take offence.

"There was a Jonathan Lorne who flew with the Blue Angels back in the late seventies," Jimmie said. "And while I can't say for sure I'm guessing Evan is his son."

"The Blue Angels?" Drew asked. "Aren't they the US Navy's flight demonstration squadron?"

"They are," Jimmie said simply.

"Did you find out what happened to this Jonathon Lorne?" Drew suspected he knew the answer but wanted to hear it anyway.

"He was killed during an air show in 1981," Jimmie revealed quietly. "In front of thousands of people. In a Hornet very similar to the one's you boys are flying now."

"Shit," Drew muttered. "That's worse than I was expecting ... Evan said his Dad was killed when he was ten ... I thought maybe a car accident or something like that."

"So I ask again ... do you think your friend flies without fear?" Jimmie asked.

"No," Drew's tone was bleak. "How the hell does he do it? _Why_ does he do it?"

"I can't answer the why," Jimmie replied, "but the how seems clear enough. He confronts his fears and conquers them. Like his interest in aerobatic flying ... that takes on a whole new meaning when you know his background, doesn't it?"

"It does," Drew agreed.

"Do you know where you are right now?" Jimmie changed the subject abruptly.

"Ah ... in a Piper Cherokee with you?" Drew suggested uncertainly.

Jimmie smiled. "In a pitch black sky you seem to have no trouble navigating."

Drew's eyebrows rose in surprise. "You did that deliberately."

"Evan believed your problem had nothing to do with skill and everything to do with your brain," Jimmie explained. "He told Steph something about you having an overactive imagination that was always going a mile a minute. All I did was give that part of your brain something else to think about."

"When I get back down there ...," Drew threatened before laughing ruefully. "I might not know him as well as I thought but he's certainly got me pegged."

"People with things they don't want to talk about are usually keen observers of others," Jimmie pointed out. "So, how about doing a few basic patterns? Just to convince yourself once and for all that you do know up from down, even without the daylight to guide you."

Drew nodded, smoothly taking the little plane through some basic rolls and loops.

"Lesson over," Jimmie announced lightly when he was done. "And I'd say you passed with flying colours."

"Thank you Jimmie," Drew's tone was rich with gratitude. "Seriously ... I don't even know _how_ to thank you for this."

"Pass that course ... be as good a friend to Captain Lorne as he's been to you," Jimmie suggested. "And do a few barrel rolls for me the next time you're up in the air."

Drew laughed. "Now that I can do," he promised.

oOo

Back at the base Evan went with Steph, leaving Drew at their dorm without a comment from the other man. Drew had filled them in on his flight once he and Jimmie had returned to the offices. Evan felt a deep sense of relief that his plan had gone even better than he'd expected. Drew had looked at him with an unreadable expression a few times on the way back to base but hadn't said anything so Evan had just assumed he was still processing the day's events.

"Did I thank you?" Evan asked Steph, following her into her room and gathering her into his arms.

"You might have but you could always thank me again," Steph said with a meaningful look.

"I certainly could," Evan agreed, devoting himself to the task with serious intent.

oOo

In the end Drew passed his next night flight with ease, what he'd learned from Jimmie translating to the Hornet as they'd all hoped. It didn't wipe out his previous failure but it got him over the line and that was all that mattered.

It was just as well too because their next big challenge had a very big carrot at the end of it.

Plot a course to fly you and your instructor 2000 miles south to Los Angeles airport in an F-18 and land at a huge and unfamiliar airport in a crowd of aircraft. Do that and you got to spend two days playing tourist.

"You must be looking forward to this one," Marcus pointed out as the six of them locked themselves into a small room with a big table and what seemed like a hundred maps.

"Yeah," Evan grinned. "I've been on a commercial airliner landing at LAX and it's a friggin' mad house. Orderly and controlled but a mad house none the less."

"Thanks for that man," Cade complained. "That's just what I needed to hear."

"Sorry," Lorne replied, unrepentant.

"Are you guys gonna be ready to brief us on the flight plan any time soon?" They all turned as one to see Major Collins standing in the doorway.

"Ah ... yes Sir," John replied for all of them. "We were just finishing up."

"Ten minutes," Collins ordered before leaving them to it.

"Shit, we gotta hurry," Neil said, drawing all their attention to the half completed flight plan.

They made it ... with a few seconds to spare, and had their collective flight plan approved by all the instructors.

A small bag packed - the F-18 didn't have a luggage compartment, just a small pod on the wing - and they were ready to go. Lorne allowed himself to feel some of the excitement visible on his classmate's faces as they all walked across the tarmac, six F-18's ready and waiting. He was going home ... not just to the States but to California. San Fransisco, where he'd grown up and his Mom and sister both still lived, was a five hour drive away but plenty close enough for him to be able to spend the weekend at home.

It was a two hour plus flight with no stops, no in flight meals, and nothing even resembling in flight entertainment. Lorne's instructor, Captain Reed, was already complaining about his ass going numb half an hour into the journey. Privately Evan agreed ... the seats were hell and he only hoped he wouldn't feel the 'call of nature' before they got to LA because there was no way he was attempting to use a piddle pack with his back seat occupied.

There was chit chat amongst the planes as they covered ground, the flight path taking them over some notable tourist sites. Some of the rookies had brought their camera's into the cockpit and used the idle time to snap photos out the windows and of themselves.

Evan had to chuckle to himself as he listened to some of the radio chatter. How far they'd come ... from having a death grip on the stick every second they were in control to relaxing enough to take photos.

When they flew over Las Vegas, a glowing cluster of lights standing out amidst the nothingness of the desert, Lorne refocussed. They were close.

And then they were there, becoming six more planes in a traffic jam that even the veterans would admit was stressful. LAX was classed as high density space ... it was busy and confusing and _everyone_ was in a hurry. At Cold Lake, a landing F-18 was a priority but here they were just another plane being squeezed into the line landing at a rate of one every two minutes.

"Centre, this is Cougar three zero on approach, how do you read?" Captain Reed made contact as they began circling.

"Cougar three zero, LA tower. Maintain holding pattern."

"Acknowledged," Reed replied. "And now we circle," he said to Lorne in an easy tone.

It was an unnerving experience, especially after they began to get visuals on all the other air craft also circling. How it was possible to coordinate so many planes without someone messing up was beyond Lorne and he just thanked his lucky stars it wasn't his job to control all of that.

Finally they got the confirmation to proceed to a landing pattern.

"Runway lights should be visible pretty soon," Reed told Lorne.

"I'm visual," Lorne announced moments later.

"Cougar three zero LA tower, you're four miles, runway 24 right clear to land, wind calm."

Lorne acknowledged the direction, taking them in and landing smoothly without fuss or ceremony.

"Good job," Reed complimented him as he slowed them to taxi speed.

Landing was just the beginning though ... from there it was a thirty minute trip to get to their parking space ... luckily they could follow the dotted line the whole way there.

All six F-18's landed without incident, the rookies and instructors meeting up and talking excitedly as they made their way to the terminal.

There was paper work to complete ... Major Collins took care of that for them and finally they were walking through the public terminal towards the exit.

"Evan!" Lorne turned, spotting the pretty, dark haired woman running towards him and grinned.

Dropping his bag he opened his arms just in time to receive his sister's exuberant hug.

"God I missed you!" Elaine Lorne said even as she hugged him hard.

Evan reciprocated, aware on the periphery that Drew had dropped back to wait for him. "Missed you too," Lorne said in a low tone.

"Mom's so excited," Elaine added, finally letting him go. "She wanted to come too but she's got classes at school tonight."

"It's only two days Sis," Evan reminded her, grabbing her hand and guiding her towards his classmate.

"I don't care," Elaine said firmly, squeezing his hand tightly.

"Me either," Evan grinned as they walked up to Drew.

"Drew, this is my sister Elaine," Evan introduced her proudly. "Elaine, this is Captain Andrew Rider ... fellow rookie and all round good guy ... for a Canadian."

"Nice to meet you," Drew shook the hand Elaine held out to him.

"Evan mentions you in his letters," Elaine offered.

"Whatever he said it isn't true," Drew held up his hands with a put upon expression.

"She's smarter than that," Evan shook his head, putting his arm around his sister and drawing her towards the exit. Drew fell into step beside them.

"How was the flight?" Elaine asked curiously.

"_Long_," Evan said feelingly.

"My a- ... the ah ... the seats aren't designed for comfort," Drew explained awkwardly.

The rest of the rookies were milling around outside, waiting for Major Collins to locate their transport. When Evan walked out with his arm around a pretty girl there were a few catcalls and whistles.

"_Hey_! Settle down," Evan called out. "Guys ... this is my sister Elaine. Elaine, this is Cade, Marcus, Neil and John – the other rookies." Evan pointed out each and Elaine received a wave or nod of greeting. Moving on to the instructors he repeated the greetings before deciding he'd done his duty for the day.

"Sir, with your permission?" Evan waited expectantly for Major Collins to release him from duty. He'd already cleared two days of leave with Major Baker as soon as he'd heard about their cross country mission so it was just a formality. He'd miss the team cameraderie and the chance to show them some of his home town but the lure of spending time with his family was too great for him to act differently.

"Granted," Collins said. "We'll see you back here first thing Monday morning. Enjoy your weekend ... _Love_."

"Thank you Sir," Evan took the call sign reveal with good grace, grabbing Elaine's hand and urging her to get moving. "Enjoy your vacation boys," he called out as they walked away. "Where'd you park?" he asked Elaine once they were out of earshot.

"Love?" She looked at him expectantly.

"Call sign," he admitted reluctantly. "They're all that bad ... Don't ask!"

Elaine laughed, pulling his arm in close to her side. "It's great to have you home," she said fondly.

oOo

It was over too quickly.

Lorne was a master at the quick fly in fly out visit after previous postings away from the States. Before the event he always thought even a few hours was worth it but when he was staring another goodbye in the face the limited time seemed cruel somehow.

He'd promised Elaine he'd write and call her regularly and his mother that of course he'd be careful.

No one spoke of what he was doing at Cold Lake ... he hadn't asked for his mother's permission before taking up the opportunity and she hadn't questioned him.

_'That'_ time was something they _never_ talked about and anything connected to it got the same treatment ... even after all the intervening years.

Before he was ready he was saying goodbye to his family and stepping into a taxi in the wee hours of the morning for a five hour trip back to LAX, knowing it would be months before he saw them again.

oOo

Meeting back up with his classmates early that Monday morning Evan was quiet and introspective. They each had to work out their own flight plans home and the solitary task suited Lorne's mood. It was another test or more to the point another in your face message. You and you alone are responsible for a 32 million dollar asset of the Canadian forces. Plotting the trip home was relatively easy but next time any of them headed out on such a long journey it might be to somewhere they'd never been, to a combat zone a world away. The sooner they got used to taking personal responsibility the better.

"Good weekend?" Drew asked him curiously, falling into step beside him as they went to log their flight plans.

"Too short," Evan said simply, knowing the other man would understand. "Yours?"

"Busy," Drew replied. "Did all the tourist things ... but yeah, it was too short."

"Better than nothing I guess," Lorne pointed out.

"True. So, is your sister seeing anyone?" Drew kept the grin off his face with difficulty as Evan shot him a suspicious glare.

"As far as you're concerned, yes!" Lorne replied predictably.

"So that's a no then?" Drew persisted. "Because she's pretty ... looks _nothing_ like you."

"A guy who's call sign is 'easy' isn't getting anywhere near my sister," Evan returned. Drew laughed, drawing a rueful laugh from Evan as well. "She's my little sister," he excused. "The big brother routine is kind of instinctive."

"I'm sure she appreciates it," Drew replied.

"Not so much," Evan laughed. "Strangely, having your air force brother looming around when your date arrives is a bit intimidating apparently."

"But fun though," Drew suggested.

"Payback for little sister crimes too numerous to mention," Lorne explained with a gleeful grin.

The two men logged their plans and then it was time to gear up again. All too soon, Evan found himself landing at Cold Lake ... back to the grindstone and the unrelenting pressure that was 410 squadron.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

**Authors Notes:**

As usual I must acknowledge the Jetstream program for any cool 'pilot sounding' in air dialogue as well as the basic activities covered in this chapter. The labelling of the planes as Alpha whatever or Cougar whatnot all come direct from Jetstream too (I don't know if there's a system for designations and didn't want to stuff it up trying to be original), as does the example calculation for lateral distance. Everything else came from wiki research, my husband's brain, and even some of it from mine!

I decided on Evan's sisters name ... no real reason for choosing Elaine beyond it being the first name that occured to me. I can't recall Lorne ever revealing a name so I had to use something. Ditto on his father's name. I hope I didn't make Lorne too much the 'star' here ... I just figure a guy who ends up in such a prestigious position on Atlantis has gotta have made a pretty big impression somewhere in his past.

Also, I took a little license on the timeline here ... I have Lorne's father being killed in an accident in an F-18 while flying for the Blue Angels in 1981 BUT they were still flying the A-4F Skyhawk then. They didn't start flying in Hornets until 1986.


	5. Fighting time

**Chapter 5: Fighting time**

Time was a strange concept. On the one hand it felt like Lorne had been at the training school forever but at the same time he couldn't believe it when they hit the 18 week mark. He was half way through the Hornet training program already ... the time left to go seemed both endless and way too short, like the ending was rushing up to meet him before he was ready.

As the weeks passed, another thought began to occupy Evan's mind at odd moments. It was a given that an entire class never completed the training. They already knew that from Paul Merlin's untimely exit. As each new phase was reached, the thought that another trainee wouldn't cut it ... would have their training ceased before they could graduate ... began to intrude more and more.

Lorne didn't want to see any of his class go ... the close call Drew had with night flying just emphasised that. They'd gotten through that one together but no one could relax because the pressure just kept ramping up. They were all learning about themselves on a personal level – and there was no guarantee that what they'd find would help them achieve their dreams, not when it could just as easily spell the end.

When your instructors likened what you'd already accomplished as kindergarten compared to what you had to do next, it didn't exactly inspire confidence. But that's what Major Charles Bickford, lead trainer for the next round of training, did.

Dog fighting.

Taking on an opponent when each knew the other was there. No more sneaking up on a bandit's tail. This was an in your face, out and out battle to dominate in the sky. Getting behind the other guy so you could shoot him and he couldn't shoot you.

Kill or be killed.

It meant max performing the Hornet because if you didn't, in the real world of aerial combat, you'd be gone before you could even blink.

But defence wasn't the sum total of it ... in real combat it wouldn't be just you defending yourself by taking out an opponent before they could take you out. Sometimes it would be offensive too ... taking out targets on orders as part of an overall mission strategy. In the defence of your country sure, but an individual attack just the same. It was a harsh fact but you didn't become a fighter pilot so you could throw a jet around the sky in an impressive display of power and precision. You became a fighter pilot to _fight_ ... and if called upon, to kill.

They called dog fighting Basic Fighter Manoeuvres – BFM – and part of learning it was learning about yourself ... learning about whether you had the aggression and the determination to be a killer. It was the part of the course that had seen more than a few trainees hit the wall ... a dream crusher that had spelled the end of the road for more than one previous rookie.

The beginning of BFM was a series of gruelling missions starting with the most basic scenario and progressively getting more demanding. The rookies had a few days to prepare, which translated into a few days to stress and worry over what was going to happen. Whether you had what it took to be what a fighter pilot _had_ to be. Because it wasn't about how talented you were as a flyer. It was about how ruthless you were as a fighter.

As was the case when each new phase was reached, the trainees spent probably too much time as a group talking about what was to come, whether to make it seem more familiar or to reassure themselves they could handle it was unclear.

"What did your friend say about BFM?" Cade asked John. "The one who did the course a couple of years ago."

"That he realised how little he knew after the first mission," John replied. "It challenged his understanding of the kind of pilot he was too ... he thought he'd be able to easily push the jet to the limits when the time came but thinking it and doing it turned out to be two very different things."

"Theory versus reality," Marcus noted.

"Exactly," John agreed. "You know you can pull 9 G's in a Hornet but even pushing the G's past 7 ... _deliberately_ ... is tougher than it sounds. Making yourself do that is the real challenge."

"It's a confidence thing," Drew said quietly, thinking back to his issues with night flying.

"Never underestimate the mental game," Lorne spoke for the first time. "If you don't believe in what you're doing ... believe you _can_ do it ... no amount of skill is gonna get you through."

"Have you flown combat?" Drew asked, knowing from the history of the other guys that Lorne was probably the only one who might have..

"No," Evan replied. "For the rest of the course I'm as much a novice as the rest of you." And he was happy about that fact - the rest of his classmates had caught up any of the advantage his time at Dryden flight research centre had given him and they were finally all on a level playing field. Lorne was looking forward to that - to being challenged as much as the rest of them, to fitting in, to not being the one they looked to as 'the voice of experience'.

"You worried?" Cade asked curiously.

"No, and you shouldn't be either," Lorne replied. Meeting Cade's eyes he continued. "We can all do this if we want to ... the big question is whether we do want to. Flying BFM will help us all answer that ... if it turns out the answer's no then now's the time to find that out."

"Not everybody's cut out for the fighting part," John concluded.

"Exactly," Lorne nodded. "Sure - training is them testing you to see what you can do. But part of any training program has to be you testing the topic - testing whether what you've set out to do is even what you thought it was gonna be."

"I want to do this," Cade said purposefully.

"Then you will," Lorne returned.

oOo

"There are many mistakes a rookie doing their first BFM can make," Major Bickford told them at the last training session before their first missions. "Not pushing the jet hard enough is one of the most common ones, followed closely by letting your airspeed drop too low. What happens if you do either of those?"

"Goodbye aerodynamic grace for the second one," Lorne responded with a smirk.

"Exactly," Bickford returned. "You know that speed is essential to the Hornet performing to spec ... let it get too low and you'll find yourself flying something with the manoeuvrability of a brick. That's if you don't just drop out of the sky." He waited for that to sink in before continuing. "What about the first mistake - not pushing the jet hard enough?"

"The bandit gets behind you," Drew said, cutting straight to the conclusion.

"It'll happen so fast you won't get a second chance," Major Bickford nodded. "Chasing down the bandit means pulling G's - _big_ G's. You go easy on the stick and you'll lose them because rest assured they'll be pushing their aircraft as hard as it can go to get behind you. For this first mission that's what it comes down to ... you start on the offence, the bandit in front of you. _Keep_ them in front of you - make the kill - and you'll pass. Let them get behind you too many times and you'll fail. Any questions?"

"No Sir," John spoke as the others all shook their heads.

"Okay - good luck Gentlemen."

oOo

Evan was teamed up with Major Baker again for his first BFM mission. Now he knew why the other man was taking a personal interest in his training, Evan was okay with that. He liked Major Baker - felt comfortable with him as an instructor. Baker didn't instruct unless it was necessary ... he didn't pepper Lorne with comments or suggestions but rather let him do his job, only offering something if he thought it would add to Lorne's performance.

As was usual they had a short briefing before heading out across the tarmac. Major Baker didn't reiterate what Bickford had already told them. Instead he offered Lorne the chance to have his questions answered before summing it up with one statement.

"Keep aware of what you're doing," he said intently. "Trust in the Hornet to handle whatever you ask of it. Trust _yourself_. And remember ... the fight isn't over until you run out of sky to fly in."

"Yes Sir," Lorne nodded confidently.

"Okay, let's go do this then," Baker motioned for Evan to lead the way as the two walked to the prep area to finish gearing up and pick up their flight bags, plans and the flight tape for recording the HUD. The system they used for dog fighting was called Automated Combat Manoeuvring Instrumentation – ACMI – half black box data recorder, half GPS. It would tell them everything they needed to know about the flight ... including who got the first shot.

Preparing for flight was routine now ... something Lorne liked to use as an example to himself. A task that had seemed large at the start was now second nature ... just like dog fighting would become second nature once he'd given himself the chance to learn and practice it.

They took to the air, Lorne and Baker in one plane, Captain Reed in the other. Once they were at 17000 feet and the fight was called as on Evan would have about 60 seconds to make the kill. Any longer than that and he'd run out of altitude - hit the hard deck at 7000 feet. The hard deck, also called the floor, was the point of no return for being able to pull up in time.

"Bravo six one, in as Bandit," Reed reported once they were at height.

"Bravo six two, in as Fighter," Lorne replied.

And the fight was on.

Evan kept his gaze on his HUD, watching for what he knew would happen next. The bandit would make a diving turn in front of him to get out of his line of fire. Lorne would have to turn tighter to stop him from getting behind him. More than that though, he had to get a lock and make the shot before the bandit could shake him.

Reed dropped his left wing, diving sharply. To Lorne he was just a flash of movement passing across the HUD. Pulling hard on the stick, Evan followed. He didn't have to think about being aggressive. Instinctively he gave it everything, the stick right up into his stomach as he pulled 7 plus G's in a tight turn that saw the bandit's position on the HUD hovering on the edges of his lock circle. It wasn't smooth - the black spot that was Reed's hornet pinged in and out of view as Lorne fought to get him in the line of fire.

It wasn't a matter of reacting without thinking though. It was controlled, focussed thinking, taking everything in that related to the task at hand and leaving everything else to take care of itself. He was only peripherally aware of Major Baker's encouragement from the back seat during the seconds that passed while he chased Reed down.

"He's bailing, go where he was," Baker instructed.

"Think about the altitude," he said moments later. "Watch the floor here."

Reed dipped right and then climbed, turning sharply again. It was purposeful, designed to make Evan feel like the other pilot was in control, but the bandit must have known that Lorne was slowly reeling him in.

Following, Evan matched Reed move for move, watching as the other hornet's erratic movements on the HUD narrowed around the aiming circle until finally he had a lock.

"Taking the shot," he announced, firing his weapons.

"Keep gunning him," Baker instructed as they followed Reed's flight path across the sky.

The whole thing only took 45 seconds but it felt like a lot longer.

"That was ...," Evan trailed off, adrenalin pumping through his system now the first encounter was behind him, mind back to taking in every detail around him. How blue and clear the sky was.

How fast his heart was pumping.

"Well done," Major Baker complimented. "Nice and aggressive."

"Thank you Sir," Lorne smiled, feeling the excitement still bubbling at the surface.

"Bravo six one, go again," Baker ordered.

"Bravo six one, acknowledged." Reed straightened his path, rising back to 17000 feet again. "Bravo 61, in as Bandit," he reported moments later.

"Bravo six two in as Fighter," Lorne replied.

Reed made the diving turn to the right this time, Evan reacting instantly and chasing him down. He pushed it even harder this time, his response time and the 7.7 G's he was pulling enough to keep the bandit on his HUD the entire time. It didn't take long for him to get a lock ... Reed hadn't even had a chance to try something else when Lorne was announcing that he had the shot.

"Excellent!" Baker's voice was exuberant as if he himself had made the kill. "Excellent work Evan."

"Thank you Sir," Lorne's own voice was full of enjoyment. Now that he was up in the air with two successful BFM's behind him he could admit to himself that he _had_ been a little worried that maybe his unblemished record would meet its first stumbling block with Basic Fighter Manoeuvres.

Evan never pulled any punches with himself. He knew his own mind - knew where his weak points were, knew the things that would bother him at the end of the day. He'd never shot at a live target before but he was comfortable in his trust in the chain of command and the necessity of military action if such action was ordered. The Flight Research Centre and NASA had taught him that he was fully capable of manning up - of flying the nuts and bolts off a plane if that's what it took to meet his objective. He'd been confident pushing the Hornet past 7.5 G's, knowing it had more if he needed it, because he'd pushed other planes to their limits in the past.

What was untested was whether he had what it took to see that target right in front of him - up close and personal - and make the kill shot anyway. It was a training scenario and of course at the back of his mind Lorne knew that - it _wasn't_ real but it felt as close as they could get without it being live combat.

What he'd learned that day was that he _did_ have that killer instinct ... the ability to hunt down the enemy and remove him from the equation. It was knowledge about himself he'd have to reflect on and file away ... but Lorne was okay with it.

"Let's return to base," Major Baker ordered after Evan had completed a final, third successful offensive BFM.

"Yes Sir," Lorne fell into position near Reed's plane, following the other pilot's lead back to Cold Lake.

oOo

The other trainees went up for their first BFM's too ... with the usual mixed results. Drew discovered a hard core of aggression that had him successful in all of his manoeuvres too. The rest were a mixed bag, mostly predictable aside from Marcus not making any kills for all three of his manoeuvres. Prior to that his record had been almost as unblemished as Lorne's and it was a surprise to everyone that he'd stumbled so badly.

"I wasn't committed enough," he admitted during the group debrief. They'd watched replays of all the HUD recordings, starting with Lorne's and finishing with Drew's. "Didn't get it past 6 G's even though I knew I had to."

"The key to successful BFM's is to pressure the bandit," Major Bickford explained. "You have to maintain that the entire time ... keep them scared ... keep them so focussed on spotting you they don't have time for anything clever."

"I knew that in my head," Marcus commented in a low tone. "Just couldn't translate it into action."

"You're not alone Captain," Bickford said reassuringly. "Like I said before the mission, it's the most common mistake rookies make. All caution, no kill." He looked at Marcus expectantly. "Now you know what to expect you'll do better next time."

Marcus nodded but the expression on his face was doubtful ... not unexpected given he wasn't used to failing.

None of them were.

Maybe that was one of the biggest lessons they all learned at fighter town. They'd come from being the star. Getting the notice of the powers that be - getting that invitation to Cold Lake - meant you were the best of the best for real.

But then you went from being a very big and impressive fish in a big pond to one of the crowd in a much smaller pond. Nowhere to hide from notice and nothing special compared with your colleagues and peers. It was a valuable lesson - learning how to fail and get over it - move on, not give up. Because up in the air that attitude could be the difference between surviving and being the victim.

oOo

The next day Lorne returned to his room in the early evening, more tired than he could ever remember being. All he wanted to do was fall on his bed and sleep for a week but he couldn't. He had to read up on the next day's BFMs - this time defensive which meant he'd be playing the target trying to break away. He was looking forward to it – not worried about not performing but still wanting to make sure he was fully prepared.

Fighter pilot training was demanding on the body and mind ... and on time itself. There never seemed to be enough minutes in the day to do everything required ... learning the coming up next stuff, reviewing what you'd just done, keeping fit so you could handle the physical stresses of high G flying. Sleeping was well down the list and Evan had gotten to the stage of getting just enough every night to stave off complete exhaustion.

When the knock sounded at his door, he couldn't help the groan that escaped. Getting up wearily he moved to open the door, stepping back with a raised brow when he saw his visitor.

"Marcus," Lorne said in surprise.

"Lorne," the other man's whole demeanour was troubled and Lorne mentally wrote off the rest of his evening. The fact that he'd come to Evan ... so late and looking like it was a last resort he felt compelled to pursue said whatever he wanted was serious and likely to take a while. "Have you got a few minutes?"

"Sure," Lorne replied openly, stepping back from the doorway.

Marcus's eyes shot to the interior of the room, noting the books and notes piled up with a frown. "Ah ... outside?" he suggested uncertainly.

"Lead the way," Lorne returned, falling into step beside Price as he headed for the outer doors. They walked in silence for the time it took to clear all the buildings and hit open space on approach to the airstrip.

"I'm thinking about leaving," Marcus admitted once they stood looking out over the tarmac. The line of Hornets were dark outlines against the semi lit darkness ... menacing and sleek as though crouching silently, waiting for action.

"What?" Lorne was surprised. That wasn't what he'd been expecting.

"I'm struggling," Marcus explained, eyes still on the silent planes. "With BFM ... if I fail my next mission I'm out anyway."

"That's just not right," Evan returned. "You're a great pilot. What's holding you back?" He knew instinctively that it wasn't about skill ... up until BFM Marcus had been one of the stars of the program.

"I don't have it," Price turned to look at Lorne. "That killer instinct. I just ... don't have what it takes to commit to the fight."

"You don't have it ... or you don't _want_ it?" Evan asked pointedly.

"I don't know," Marcus looked down at his shoes before meeting Lorne's gaze. "Maybe both."

"It _can't_ be both," Lorne replied. "You either want to do it or you don't." Marcus made to reply but Evan held up a hand to stop him. "I'm not saying it's easy. I _know_ it's not. But if you're looking inside yourself and doubting the act itself then it's not about capability. It's about desire. What do you really want to do?"

"I thought I knew," Marcus sighed. "Fighter pilot - that's what I always answered whenever anybody asked. Now I'm just not as sure it's what I want anymore."

"It's not what you expected?" Evan asked curiously.

"I don't think I ever thought about it," Marcus chuckled suddenly. "It's a young boys dream ... glory and speed in a super hero kind of way. Not much of reality in that, is there?"

"No there's not," Lorne agreed with a faint smile.

They fell silent for a time before Evan spoke again. "So if I ask you now, what do you want to be when you grow up, what are you going to answer?"

"A pilot," Marcus said immediately. "Definitely a pilot."

"There's a lot of ground between pilot and _fighter_ pilot," Lorne acknowledged. "My whole time at the NASA flight research centre had little to do with the 'fighter' side of things. You can still be that if it's really what you want. But you have to ask yourself ... is this about what you want or is it about not wanting to fail - getting out before they kick you out?"

"I knew you were gonna ask that!" Marcus shot back irritably. Lorne waited, watching the expression on Price's face turn from annoyance to resignation as he thought. "I'd like to say it's all about the career question," he finally admitted. "But if I'm honest maybe some of it's about failing too. I don't want to go up there and suck at this again."

"I get that," Evan replied. "Maybe you should look at this next mission as an opportunity then. Use it as a way to determine what you should be doing in the future. To do that though you're gonna have to commit to it - give it everything you've got - otherwise it won't be a fair test. You pass and still feel that the fighter part isn't for you then it's probably the right thing to step away."

"You're right," Marcus nodded. His expression turned thoughtful as he considered Lorne's advice. "I can do that," he muttered, eyes narrowed.

"And remember one thing," Lorne said, falling into step with Marcus as they headed back towards the dorms. "Not everyone who leaves fighter training is pushed out the door. Deciding to leave isn't a failure. And getting this far is a success."

"I know," Marcus smiled, slapping a hand to Evan's shoulder. "Thanks man."

"You're welcome," Lorne made a play of staggering slightly before straightening again. Laughing, already seeming more relaxed, Marcus said another quick thanks before the two parted ways.

As Evan walked back to his room he wondered when he'd become the unofficial class counsellor. Not that he minded ... if anything he'd said helped Marcus with what was undoubtedly a tough decision, then Lorne would be happy. He had a suspicion about which way Marcus would go but time would tell if he was right or not.

A part of Lorne felt a little guilty though. He had issues of his own that he'd kept to himself - even from Drew who'd become the closest friend he'd had in years. Evan didn't like the thought that everyone was looking at him as the guy breezing through - it felt dishonest. Not that he'd envisage any kind of situation where he'd spill the beans on his personal situation. It would take a lot to bring him to that point.

Pushing the unsettling thoughts to the background, Lorne settled at his desk. He still had hours of study ahead of him and an early morning fast approaching.

oOo

Lorne took the F-18 up to 17,000 feet ... ready to be the bandit to Major Collin's fighter. This time he had Captain Reed in the back seat ... the acknowledged king of banditry.

"Alpha five two in as bandit," Evan announced when he was ready to go.

"Alpha five one in as fighter," Collins replied.

Without waiting for an invitation, Lorne dropped the Hornet into a sharp dive. This time _he_ was in the hot seat – he needed to outturn Collins and then manoeuvre his way onto the other man's tail.

Being the bandit was streets away harder than starting from the offensive. All the time Evan was fighting to spot the other Hornet behind him, even as he flew forwards. The helmets the pilots all wore weren't exactly light either ... Evan's weighed somewhere around 8 pounds. Trying to spot his pursuer was literally about physically craning his head up and back and it was hard work.

It was an odd contrast ... his focus behind him while everything he needed to fly the plane was in front of him.

He did have some magic tricks to help throw the other plane off the scent ... Lorne couldn't help a small grin as he set off the chaff. Small packets of tinfoil confetti designed to confuse the other pilot's radar. The other tool in his arsenal of defence was flares – flashes of heat and light meant to trick a heat seeking missile into locking on to their position rather than his F-18.

Collins wasn't swayed by Evan's defensive attempts, staying on track as he chased Lorne's jet, closing fast.

"Watch your nose," Reed cautioned as Lorne flew in a wide diving arc before slamming the stick forward aggressively, craning his neck and just spotting Collin's hovering outside the line of fire to his right.

It was hard to point the jet's nose where it needed to be when you were so busy watching your tail but winning the dogfight, living through it, came down to that. Keep the nose down and gravity was on your side – you'd be faster. If Evan could keep his nose below the horizon then he had the best chance of avoiding the other pilot locking on to him.

Setting off a second series of chaff, Evan reversed his direction abruptly, pulling significant G's as he attempted to swing around behind the other plane. He was counting on using all the altitude he had available to him along with the element of surprise being enough to catch Collin's offside. It was a bold move that required a very tight turning circle and Lorne was surprised when moments later he found himself in the pursuit position. Before Collin's could swing away Lorne had locked on weapons and made the shot.

"Woo hoo," Reed was clearly grinning as Evan straightened out his flight path.

"It took too long," Lorne commented, knowing that the longer a dog fight went on the more chance there was for errors. You had to take command of the fight and get your shot quickly.

"Not really," Reed countered. "It just feels like it did. Time elongates inside the cockpit during a BFM. Just wait until we review the ACMI – you'll see."

"I guess," Evan replied. He knew it was true ... he'd been continually surprised during flight reviews how short some of them actually were.

"Okay, let's try that again," Reed announced.

Nodding, Lorne went back to making himself the target.

oOo

Back on base, successful mission and debrief behind him, Evan sought out Marcus. The other man had redone his first BFM mission while Lorne had been in the air. It was a requirement that every unsat mission – unsatisfactory – had to be re-flown for a passing grade.

"How'd it go?" Lorne asked as he joined the other man in the mostly deserted rookie lunch room.

"Passed," Marcus said with little inflection in his voice.

"And?" Evan raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"And I don't know," Marcus admitted. "It felt good to not suck but ...," he trailed off with a sigh.

"But it didn't blow up your skirt?" Lorne jested.

"Something like that," Marcus agreed with a laugh. Turning serious again he shrugged. "I'm gonna stick it out for a bit longer – see if I can get more relaxed about the whole killer instinct thing."

"Give yourself a chance," Lorne urged. "Things can feel uncomfortable to start with and then you settle into them and forget you ever felt that way."

"Is that what happened for you?" Marcus asked curiously.

"Yeah," Evan agreed, sitting down opposite the other man. "Close formation flying didn't come naturally – not like the rest of it. But now ...,"

"Now you're enjoying it," Marcus concluded.

"Not exactly enjoying it," Lorne felt compelled to be honest. "But I'm not hating it either. It's not a deal breaker. Give yourself time to work out whether dog fighting is your deal breaker or just a part of the job you can do when you have to. No one's gonna like every aspect of their job ... and you know, the perks for us more than make up for that."

"They do," Marcus agreed. "I don't think I'll ever fly anything as impressive as the Hornet."

"Hard to imagine anything more impressive," Lorne agreed. "So ... you're hanging in there."

"I'm hanging in there," Marcus agreed.

"Nice," Evan smiled, happy that for the time being their class would remain unchanged.

oOo

The one constant in fighter town was that you never got to rest on your laurels ... it fact it seemed a requirement for every rookie never to get too comfortable. The next unexpected challenge was always just around the corner, waiting to trip you up if you let it.

Lorne had flown five successful BMF missions over the space of a week, making him first up for neutral BFM. That was the polite label for what was essentially a game of high speed chicken, fighting head to head.

In a neutral fight no one started with an advantage. You approached your opponent from the opposite direction and engaged the enemy once you were in range. In a real life combat situation such a scenario was probably closest to what might happen ... approaching a designated target from your side's base of operations while the enemy moved to defend it from theirs.

The objective was simple ... engage a lead turn and then be offensive on the other pilot to make the kill shot.

The key to succeeding was to turn at just the right time to circle in behind the other guy. It wasn't as simple as being the first to the trigger although that was the required end result. You had to know when to join the fight too.

You also had to respect the bubble – the 1000 feet of space around your opponent that for training purposes was designated as out of bounds. Breach the bubble and you'd be in for a red tick and a stern reprimand from your instructor, not to mention bearing the brunt of an angry outburst from your bandit. Training had to be real but it also had to be safe and anything that threatened that was dealt with severely.

Lorne and Captain Reed headed out together with Major Baker flying as the solo opponent for the morning. He rarely ventured out in such a role but had announced he was in the mood to show the rookie how it was done. Evan had played along, pointing out that youth should more than make up for experience.

Grinning, both teams set out for their respective planes.

"Is Major Baker any good?" Evan asked as he settled himself in the cockpit.

"Unbeatable when he first started out," Reed replied. "He's not as sharp as he used to be but still more than capable of kicking our asses out there."

"Noted," Lorne grinned, completing his checks and getting them moving. He did wonder at Major Baker's choice for participation until a thought occurred to him. Was he testing whether Evan still had that killer instinct when the base 2IC was his opponent? Whether he'd be willing to take down a mentor – someone he admired – even if it meant showing him up?

"_Hell yes_," Evan muttered with a shake of his head. This was going to be fun.

The first approach was an adjustment ... it wasn't as easy as it might seem to time your entrance into the fight. Too late and you'd miss the other guys leading turn. Too early and you'd deliver your backside for a quick defeat.

Lorne spotted Baker when they were still some distance out. Hand tight on the stick he kept to the straight line. Baker did the same and it began to feel like a game of chicken for real. If each kept to the same line they wouldn't crash head on but they'd probably clip wings which at that speed was just as bad.

Instinct kicked in again ... Evan wasn't sure why but there came a point in his approach where he just knew it was time to take the lead, make the turn and invite Baker to counter.

Turning sharply right and down, Lorne used gravity as he'd been instructed to guide the nose of his Hornet down and give him a burst of speed. Baker countered, making a lead turn of his own.

It was like a choreographed dance as the two planes circled each other mid air, Lorne's turn tight enough to see him gaining on Baker's tail as they used up some of their precious altitude to jockey for position.

"Watch the floor," Reed reminded him in a low tone.

"Watching," Lorne acknowledged, eyes darting to the HUD and then back out the window looking for Baker's plane. The flash of black whizzing past was his cue to sharpen the turn again, pushing the plane to the limit as he attempted to outturn his opponent.

He thought he had Baker pinned down until the other man did the proverbial brake slam Lorne had only seen in the movies. This was a combination slow down and drop so that their planes maintained a safe distance even as Baker skimmed the edges of the hard deck.

Lorne reacted immediately, pulling back hard on the stick as he shot the Hornet up to vertical. Baker followed as Evan knew he would ... the correction in their relative positions saw Lorne's undercarriage just shy of the bubble at the roof of Baker's aircraft. If he'd just returned the plane to horizontal Baker would still be on his tail. Instead Evan twisted the stick while they were still vertical, doing a 360 spin around the straight line path of the other plane. Because he'd covered more distance, when he straightened off, Lorne was on Baker's tail with an easy lock in sight.

Still mostly vertical he made the kill before doing a back loop to bring his Hornet back to horizontal.

"Holy _fuck_," Reed's voice sounded a little shaky from the back seat. "What the hell was that?" he demanded.

"Inverted vertical spin with a reverse outside three quarter loop," Lorne replied casually, as though they were standard procedures all pilots made use of.

"Oh - is _that_ all?" Reed quipped. "Where'd you learn that because I _know_ we didn't teach you?!"

"Cheating Captain?" Major Baker's voice over the radio broke into their conversation.

"No Sir," Lorne replied. "Just making use of every advantage against a worthy opponent."

"Very diplomatic," Baker returned. "Let's see what other tricks you've got under your belt."

"Yes Sir," Lorne grinned as he flew back to 17000 feet, covering enough distance to provide sufficient separation between the two planes.

The second encounter felt much the same as the first. Evan had to fight hard to keep up with Major Baker and he had to pull more aerobatic manoeuvres as the only way to gain position sufficient to get a lock.

Later, back at his debrief, Lorne did wonder whether trouncing his instructor and the second in command of the base had been a good idea ... until Baker walked in with a grin and an expression of clear enjoyment on his face.

"Haven't had that much fun in a long while," the Major commented. "You're just a wealth of hidden talents, aren't you Captain?"

"I try Sir," Lorne said, tongue in cheek.

"I'm not surprised," Baker shot Captain Reed a look the other man clearly understood.

"I'm up again in an hour," Reed announced, standing abruptly. "I'll leave you to debrief Captain Lorne Sir."

"I'll look after him," Baker agreed, waiting until the other man had left before turning back to Lorne. "I'm not surprised," he said again.

"How's that Sir?" Lorne was truly puzzled at the turn in the conversation.

"I'm not surprised that the son of Major Jonathon Lorne would have such a talent for stunt flying," Baker said intently.

"You knew my father?" Lorne sat up abruptly, eyes locked to his instructors as a sick feeling swept over him. He knew Baker had read whatever was written in his file but personal knowledge was another thing entirely.

"I knew _of_ him," the Major clarified. "And I met him once only a few months before he was killed. You look a lot like him."

"I know," Evan looked down, clenching and unclenching a fist absently as his thoughts scattered. "My Mom doesn't mention him but the expression in her eyes sometimes when she looks at me ..," he trailed off.

"It must have been hard," Baker acknowledged. "He was a great pilot."

"Until the day he wasn't and paid the price," Lorne said in a low tone, almost bitter.

"Even more so that day," the Major corrected. "He made the conscious choice to stay with his plane long enough to ensure he cleared all the spectators. I read the incident report Evan. Your father had partial control, enough to keep that plane in the air – he could have ejected sooner – hell, with more time he might have even gained back full control."

"Do you really believe that Sir?" Lorne looked up, his expression guarded.

"It's all there in black and white," Baker pointed out. "They don't pretty it up for the family in official reports Evan."

"I always thought maybe ...," Lorne trailed off with an awkward shrug.

"You should be proud," Major Baker stated firmly. "I know he'd be damn proud of you right now."

"I hope so Sir," Evan swallowed back the emotions that were clambering to be given a voice.

"So – why the aerobic flying?" Baker asked in a more casual tone, giving Evan the chance to get back some of his control.

"Too many reasons to count," Evan admitted ruefully. "I guess I wanted to understand him better – why he thought that kind of flying was important enough to risk his life for it. And maybe I was testing myself too – to see whether whatever flaw it was that ended it for him is somewhere in me too."

"It was an _accident_," Baker said insistently. "A simple malfunction. Nothing he did and nothing he could have done to prevent it. He had the skill ... just as you do. You've more than proved yourself, even before today."

"Thank you Sir," Lorne smiled. Eyes twinkling suddenly he chuckled. "This is one day when I won't mind you making a spectacle of my mission result Sir."

"Vying for my job huh Captain?" Baker joked back.

"Not yet," Evan grinned. "Maybe in a few years ... when I'm too old to fly a Hornet anymore."

"Enjoy it while it lasts," Baker said seriously. "Because it goes faster than you can possibly imagine right now." Before Evan could comment, the other man nodded towards the doors. "Now get out of here – go brag to your classmates about how you trounced me."

"Yes Sir," Lorne paused for a moment, eyes on his instructor, before silently leaving the room.

He puzzled about Major Baker's mood for a few days before the reason for it suddenly became clear. Every fighter pilot knew that their active career would be measured in years rather than decades. For most, six to eight years would be all they'd manage as a full time flyer.

Flying a Hornet was hard on the body ... something like 8 hours of hard labour compressed into a one hour time span. Like elite athletes, as age caught up with them a fighter pilot would begin to feel the pinch that eventually led to a drop in performance. From that first hour of flight every pilot was on a short track towards the final one. When it came would depend on the pilot. Some waited to be pushed into a different role, others left before it got to that. Some stayed in the service; others took up positions in private sector.

But no matter how they left, they all shared one thing in common. A last flight ... a solo fly past in an F-18 with their family and friends present to bear witness.

When Lorne heard that Major Collins had announced his retirement from the active flight list and Cold Lake base, Baker's words made sense. The two men had served together for many years ... Collins leaving would leave more than just a vacant standards officer position to be filled.

The rookies stood on the fringes of the airfield the day Collins took his final fly past with his wife and two young children in attendance. Evan watched, his eyes more on the family than the sky as Collins made the most of his free ride in the Hornet – taking it through its paces with a precision that made his leaving all the harder to accept.

Collin's wife looked proud and sad ... Lorne was sure she understood more than most what her husband was leaving behind that day. The need to fly that was a part of the man. Turning his attention to the children Evan had to smile. Both boys were unable to stand still, their small faces turned to the sky as they squinted into the sun for a glimpse of their father. The image hit Evan hard ... that would have been him, if ...

"I wonder if they'll follow in their Dad's footsteps?" Drew stood beside Evan, nodding to the two boys.

"He's giving them good reason to want to today," Evan's voice was low and rough.

"I'm sure whatever they end up doing, he'll be proud," Drew carefully ignored his friends agitation, eyes turned to the sky. Knowing what he did of Lorne's background, Drew knew the scene they were witnessing would be hard to watch and so he stood, silently supportive.

Lorne nodded without speaking. The two of them maintained their place as part of the audience for Major Collin's departure, cheering along with all the other pilots present as Collins landed for the last time and gathered his family in for a close hug. He might have been leaving the sky but he wasn't leaving the club ... once a Hornet pilot _always_ a Hornet pilot.

Evan hung around just long enough to be polite and respectful, congratulating the Major and thanking him for his expert instruction. The celebration was still in full swing when Lorne slipped out, walking quickly across the tarmac and on to the fence line. Gripping the fence tightly he rested his forehead against the cold metal loops, casting his gaze to the horizon.

History was what it was ... and the future would be what it was meant to be. He'd meet every test head on and pass it ... to prove something to himself as well as to make his absent father proud.

And maybe one day his mother would understand the choices both her men had made and be happy for his success.

**Authors Notes:**

Thank you to the Canadian Discovery channel and the Jetstream program for all the details I'd never be able to find out myself – everything the pilots get up to and all the jargon and other cool stuff is gratefully sourced from them. There are a couple of direct quotes from Kavan Smith's narration included here too - my favourite was "all caution, no kill".

One of the pilots did do his final fly past during the making of the show and I just had to include a version of it here. I never really thought about the time line on a fighter pilot before – it's a lot shorter than I might have guessed if someone had asked me. It does explain to me why people such as Lorne and Sheppard occupy non pilot specific roles when clearly they are pilots. Both are of an age where they'd be past full time flying anything demanding like an F-16. Lucky for them Puddle Jumpers and F302's have inertial dampeners!

Last thing before I stop blabbering on ... the title for this chapter isn't a reference to it being time to fight ... it's about fighting time itself, both day to day as the trainees struggle to get everything done, and the battle in general - the one none of us can win.


	6. Shifting Dreams

**Chapter 6: Shifting Dreams**

It made sense that if you called something 'basic' – as in _basic_ flight manoeuvres – it was because there was something more advanced to follow. And in week 22, six months into the training program, the rookies found out just _how_ advanced.

Air combat manoeuvres – ACM – the most realistic combat scenario they'd faced so far. The instructors called this stage of the course 'Dream Killer' for a reason and all the rookies knew it. In almost every course _someone_ crashed and burned on ACM's. It was just a matter of constructing your own list on who was most likely to go down that road on _your_ course.

Lorne, along with the other five trainees, knew the pecking order as perceived by their group of instructors. It was hard not to – through open comments after every mission ... the good and the bad – and because they were such a tight knit group that things like grades were shared openly after every flight.

So Evan knew that his name had been firmly planted at the top of the list almost from day one, followed closely by Marcus Price and Cade Boston. Of course, Marcus had already stumbled on BFMs, his reputation not so much tarnished as it was under the spotlight of increased attention. Before that he'd slipped under the radar, getting it done without song or ceremony. The others were by no means slouches but they'd all suffered setbacks during at least one phase of the course and had to pick themselves up and get back on track. Drew was getting up there again, having made up ground after his struggles with night flying, but his experience showed that it didn't take much to go from one end of the spectrum to the other.

Because if there was one thing that was certain, it was that fortunes could change in the span of days – that it would take screwing up only a couple of missions to go from high to low without stopping in the middle.

It wasn't something you wanted to think about ... fighter pilot training was ever a confidence game, a _belief_ game. Evan didn't need to believe that he could top the class ... truth be told he didn't really want to, but for the fact that it might draw renewed approval from the folks at NASA. But he did believe in his ability to pass the course – not through serial superior missions but through constant, unrelenting effort and attention to every detail available.

It was in his make up to be that way ... as Major Collins had put it when he'd taken his leave of the rookies, offering each a personal word, Lorne was 'very to the business'. Translation? Evan wasn't a wild card or a character of any sort. He was solid and dependable and he got the job done without fanfare or the need for praise. He kept _himself_ on track and he never let anything set him back.

Little did he know that before the end of the course all of that would be tested in the worst possible way.

oOo

The first mission for ACM had everybody talking. There would be not one but two other planes in the sky. You, your lead, and the bandit in a two against one air combat scenario.

"The lead and the bandit will engage each other just like any other BFM," Captain Reed explained in the group briefing. Each trainee would also have a one on one briefing with the instructor who'd sit in their back seat but all new sections of the course began with group training. "Your job is to hover about a mile up from the battle, identify the bandit, tip your nose in and then shoot him down."

As he spoke he brought up an animated display showing three plane figures on a black screen. The lead was shown in blue, his dotted line flight path shifting into the standard single circle pattern of the first BFM they'd all completed. Circling with him was a red plane figure with corresponding dotting trail, the bandit. Above the two circling planes, crossing the pattern, was a green plane – the trainee whose job it was to take the bandit down.

"Looks easy sitting here doesn't it?" Reed commented, holding up small versions of the Hornet painted in the three standard colours and mounted on sticks so they could be used to demonstrate various flight positions. "Unfortunately for you we don't paint the planes so you can distinguish them in the air. In real combat even the planes flown by different countries will look the same when you're tagging them over your shoulder, upside down, doing 200 plus miles per hour."

He paused to let that sink in. "So, how do we do it? How _do_ we work out who to shoot?"

"Ask your lead which one he is," Neil suggested.

"Exactly," Reed confirmed. "When you have to work out who's who in the zoo using your comms becomes _very_ important." It was how they described the practice of distinguishing friend from foe – who's who in the zoo - and they'd be hearing it _all_ the time during the air combat phase of the course. "What's the first objective for ACM1?"

"Don't shoot your lead," Lorne provided the obvious answer.

"Don't shoot your lead," Reed reiterated. "Remember – comms, contracts, and game plan. Talk to Lead. Don't shoot Lead. Stay one step ahead of the bandit. You do all three and you'll pass the first ACM mission. Any questions?"

Evan slouched back in his seat, listening to the others ask a variety of questions as he thought about the upcoming mission set for the following day with concealed excitement. Assuming everything went well he was expecting it to be a whole lot of fun.

oOo

The weather Gods smiled down on the rookies the day of first ACMs. As the year shifted towards November the seasons shifted too, bringing with them fog that rolled in off the lake from the east and lingered on the tarmac for hours.

Lorne had already begun to feel the cold again, particularly in the early mornings when he ran the now familiar path around the base. Getting the chance to adjust rather than just jumping in after the heat of California helped, but Evan was pretty sure he'd never be won over on the whole extreme winter thing.

"Captain," Major Baker drew Evan's attention from the tarmac outside where he'd been watching the operations crew get the planes ready.

"Sir," he nodded, following Baker to one of the vacant briefing rooms for their detailed mission briefing.

"You ready?" Baker asked simply.

"Studied up as much as I can Sir," Lorne replied, before shrugging. "I know things are different once you're up there ... very different sometimes."

"That's the thing about ACM," the Major said conversationally. "You can keep the book in mind but you can't run it by the book entirely. It's dynamic and fluid in a way you can't program. You have to be the same ... that's why rookies struggle with this part of the course."

"We've all been talking," Lorne admitted. "John was saying most courses lose at least one trainee because of ACMs."

"That's true," Baker agreed. "It's about having spare capacity Evan. Your bucket can't be so full there's no room for processing what's right at you during manoeuvres. Some people can do it, others can't think fast enough to take the opportunities when they're there."

The bucket concept was well understood by everyone ... it's how the instructors described a trainee's current state. Everyone had a bucket of things they were currently doing, thinking about, planning, learning. If the bucket got too full then things started falling out the sides – that was why rookies made simple mistakes later in the course, forgot things they'd learned and mastered months before.

The key was to absorb the new stuff before it overloaded your bucket – to keep that spare capacity by making all the things you needed in your bucket smaller so that you could progressively fit more and more in. It was like when you first learned to drive a car ... to start with your entire focus was on shifting gears at the right time, turning the wheel, taking your turns at the right speed, paying careful attention to your route. Eventually though you got to the stage where you'd drive from A to B without any conscious recollection of how you got there. For the rookies it was much more challenging because they weren't getting as much time as they needed to reach unconscious competence in one task before another new one was thrown on top.

"Can I ask if there's anyone you're particularly worried about Sir?" Evan queried.

"You can but you know that's confidential ... besides, it's not always predictable. I've been surprised more than once in the past, going both ways." Baker looked at Lorne for a moment, consideringly. "You're worried about losing someone from your 'team' – now you've gotten comfortable with them. That's natural, but losing people for whatever reason is a part of the service, as I'm sure you're well aware. And you know, if someone doesn't make it, it doesn't reflect on you personally. You can't bring everyone along for the ride just on the strength of your will alone."

"Ah ... I ...," Evan looked uncomfortable before admitting. "I was just thinking maybe I could help a little."

"And that's admirable," Baker agreed. "As long as you keep in mind that it's not always possible to change the outcome, no matter what you do."

"Yes Sir," Lorne nodded.

"Now ... back to ACM1," the Major stated. "Let's talk game plan."

Lorne settled back in his seat, watching as his instructor for the mission ran through a series of in air manoeuvres with the 'plane on a stick' props. At the back of his mind Evan was still thinking about what Major Baker had said – that it was almost inevitable that someone wouldn't make it through this next stage of the course. He knew the older man spoke wisely from experience, but Lorne was still determined to prove him wrong.

oOo

It was crowded on the runway as all three planes prepared for takeoff. As one, lead and bandit took to the air, followed closely by Lorne as the intercept.

"Accelerating for 400, we're at 17000," Evan reported once they were in the training zone and ready to proceed.

"Alpha five one, in as lead," the newly promoted standards officer, Major Steven Bond, call sign 'Jimmy' reported over the radio.

"Alpha five three, in as bandit," Captain Reed responded.

"Alpha five two, in as intercept," Lorne completed the initial fight set up chatter.

Immediately lead and bandit engaged, moving into a single circle fight manoeuvre a 1000 feet below Lorne's position.

"Alpha five one engaged. Hostile, hostile, MIG 29," Major Bond spoke, his tone urgent as though the situation were real.

"Okay, you got who's who in the zoo?" Major Baker queried. Did Lorne know who was the bad guy and who was the good guy? It was _the_ question because even on a clear day the decision on who to shoot could be anything but clear.

"Alpha five one hard right, bandit right," Bond reported.

Lorne rolled the plane nose up over the fight, upside down. Craning his head back over his shoulder, he locked vision on both planes circling behind him. Two dark plane shapes against the blue sky, indistinguishable from each other.

"Five two, I am tally visual," Evan reported. Tally visual meaning he had sight of both planes below him. Tipping his nose, Lorne dropped his wing and returned to right side up flying, preparing to lock onto the target.

Everything moved very fast during ACM ... that was the problem. You thought you had your man in sight but very quickly both planes could swap position, complete a full revolution of the single circle manoeuvre while you were busy getting into position. Evan thought he knew who was who but as he pursued to get into a firing position he still worked the radio.

"Alpha five two, confirm the bandit is low?" he queried Bond.

"Alpha five one, bandit is low man," Bond confirmed.

Lorne slammed the stick hard left, swooping in high behind the bandit. "Alpha five two, press," he reported, letting his lead know that he was pushing for the kill shot. The instance he had a lock and the shoot cue flashed on his HUD, Evan took the shot.

"Alpha five two, Fox 2," he said, weapons away.

"Preserve, preserve," Baker cautioned Lorne to maintain position, to keep the other two planes visual until they'd confirmed the kill.

The plane Lorne had locked and fired on tipped his nose up, regaining altitude.

"Alpha five three, valid," Reed reported.

"Nice shooting," Baker complimented Evan, the grin evident in his voice.

"Thank you Sir," Lorne replied, relieved. In that second before he'd got confirmation of the valid kill he'd wondered briefly if he'd taken out the wrong plane. Only now that he'd been up in the air with two other planes did he realise just how challenging the two against one scenario was. Without the constant communication between lead and intercept it really would be impossible to work out who was who – no one was good enough to remain tally visual on both planes 100% of the time and it only took a moment of inattention for positions to be swapped.

"Alpha five one, reset," Major Bond announced.

"Alpha five three, reset," Reed confirmed.

"Let's make it two for two," Baker told Lorne.

"Yes Sir," Evan replied confidently, heading back for 17,000 feet.

The second round of two against one fighting went much as the first had, although Lorne was hopeful he'd managed to get the kill shot a little faster than the first time. That was something all the rookies were told – don't waste time fighting, get the kill as quickly as possible. It was a balance though, if you acted in haste you could take out your lead but if you took too long you were leaving your lead to fight alone.

"Let's take it back to base," Baker advised once Lorne's hour in the air was up. They'd managed three sets with Evan getting the kill each time. Overall Evan thought he'd done well but until he'd gone through every move in detail he was never completely sure.

Back in debrief the Major took Evan through the mission using the same animated diagrams as they'd seen during training for the mission, this time recorded during the flight. Evan watched in fascination as his green coded plane trailed above the red and blue planes of bandit and lead, dipped and then chased down the red trail, getting the kill shot.

"Forty five seconds," Baker noted. "Not bad for a rookie. I wouldn't say you hesitated on this first one but the last check of who's who probably wasn't necessary. Did you know who was who before you made the call?"

"Ah ... I guess," Lorne replied, thinking back to that moment. "I'd lost tally for maybe a second getting the plane back right side ... it wasn't much but I thought there was a slight chance bandit and lead could have switched positions."

"Fair enough," Baker nodded. "You'll get a better feel for that with practice ... elapsed time compared to how long it feels. If you watch it again," he reset the tape and played the animation again, "you'll see lead and bandit couldn't have switched while you were getting position. There wasn't time, even with how fast things were moving."

Lorne watched closely, eyes narrowed as he considered the entire picture. He nodded, understanding what Baker was saying. It wasn't much, but in combat even a few seconds could be the difference between killing or being killed.

In a battle with two guys beating up on one you'd expect the fight to be over fast. Experienced pilots got in the fight, lined up the shot and made the kill in under 30 seconds. There were even statistics to support the need for the quick kill. Air force studies had shown that in a 2 versus one fight in the first 45 seconds the intercept had a five to one chance of killing the bad guy. Take that out to a minute thirty and the chances of surviving dropped down to one to one. If the fight went beyond two minutes the ratios actually reversed – the intercept had a five to one chance of dying in the fight. Nothing like cold hard numbers to convince you that speed was of the essence.

"Let's look at your next run," Baker stopped the playback, cueing up the next sequence.

oOo

ACM1 complete and an above average grade under his belt, Lorne went to rejoin his classmates, most of them having done their first missions over the day as well.

"Guys," he said, walking into the small study room where they congregated outside of classes and missions.

"SureLorne!" Drew grinned, getting in another repetition of his unofficial nickname for Evan, a play on the whole forlorn thing from the call sign review as well as a back door acknowledgement of Evan as the undisputed 'king' of their class of recruits.

"I thought we'd agreed you were gonna drop that," Evan shot out, glaring at his friend.

"_You_ agreed," Drew said innocently. "Personally I think it's fitting ... if you can't do the time then don't do the crime buddy," he added, grinning again.

"Whatever," Lorne dismissed, knowing there was no point in arguing. "So – how'd you go?" he asked, casting a glance around at all his classmates.

"I'm down 40," Cade admitted.

Lorne whistled. "Tough break," he acknowledged. While he'd never had to satisfy the requirements of the beer rule himself, Evan understood the implications. The beer rule was all about the number of beers you had to buy your instructor if you stuffed up on a mission. The more beers, the worse the stuff up. It was all about suffering a penalty that while mostly harmless would hurt your finances and your pride enough to make the lesson stick. Forty was a high penalty and given the mission could mean only one thing. Cade had shot his lead.

"Did you get a valid kill?" Evan asked, hoping the younger man had redeemed himself.

"No," Cade's tone was clipped and for the first time Lorne could see the cracks in the other man's facade. Cade came over as young and keen, eager to succeed while being as shy and bashful as his call sign proclaimed him. But underneath all of that he was purposeful and driven to succeed – he just never let the harsher side of being that way show. Until today.

"It's the first mission," John reminded Cade simply.

"Yeah, but I was the only one to not get a valid kill _and_ shoot my lead," Cade pointed out grimly.

"You'll do better next time," John said firmly, cutting off the negative talk before it got destructive.

"How about you Marcus?" Evan asked curiously, trying to switch the focus and also interested in how he'd done.

"One valid," Marcus returned casually, "ran out of time on the other two. Everything moves a hell of a lot faster up there than you realise when you're reading it from a book."

"You got that right," Cade agreed. "Felt like I didn't have time to even think, let alone work out what to do next."

Lorne didn't say anything but Cade's comment troubled him a little. From the sounds of it his young friend's bucket was dangerously full – no spare capacity. That was a worry because being a good fighter pilot wasn't about having the best hands and feet – the most talent in the air. It wasn't about being the best shooter, or having the best personality either. It was about the ability to process information rapidly and use it to make good decisions. If Cade was feeling like he didn't have the time to think it was a sure sign he'd reached maximum capacity. Unless something clicked things would only get worse for him.

"I tell you one thing," Drew chuckled. "I was so focussed on trying to get visuals that I almost forgot to fly the plane. Had it down to 70 knots at the top of a climb and Major Wilson in the back seat just repeating 'speed', 'speed', 'speed', over and over until I realised and corrected it."

"That's close to stalling it," Neil said, surprised.

"Yeah – the Cherokee Lorne and I flew a few weekends back stalls at 68 knots," Drew admitted, shrugging. "What Major Wilson said at my debrief was interesting though. He said he sees himself more as a weapons systems manager and tactician than he does as a pilot like he would if he was just flying from A to B." Drew laughed. "Then he pointed out that there are stages where the operation of the plane has to become number one – like _before_ you're at the top going way too slow and about to drop like a brick. I got off lightly today and you can bet I won't be forgetting to keep track of _that_ next mission."

Evan met Drew's eyes, silently nodding his approval. Drew was just as much a facade on the outside as any of them. So easy going and casual he could be mistaken for being insensitive but in actual fact he was just the opposite. He'd seen Cade's spirit crushed a little and used his own failings along with a reminder of how useful making a mistake and learning from it could be to help gee up their youngest team mate.

"And the good news is we get to do it all again tomorrow," John slapped Cade on the shoulder. "So ... who's up for a drink?"

There was plenty of work to be done, mission debriefs to be gone over again. But as one, the group put all that aside and headed for the officers lounge, instinctively knowing that they'd each get more out of a few hours of social interaction and friendly support than they would from studying.

oOo

After two successful repetitions of the two against one scenario with an instructor in your back seat you got to do the whole thing again, but this time flying solo.

Lorne's first solo air combat mission came at the end of the first week of ACMs and he spent the night prior rereading his manuals, going over his previous two mission reports and just flying it in his head. That meant sitting in front of a wall where pictures of the cockpit and controls had been attached and literally running through your moves, imagining how it _should_ go.

But as luck would have it, the weather gods decided not to favour Evan with a clear day. Visibility was so poor the entire morning of training was cancelled, leading to a frenzy of mission reshuffling for the afternoon once things had finally cleared.

For the rookies it was beyond frustrating ... a night of intense foreplay without the satisfying release at the end ... as Drew jokingly put it.

Lorne did finally get his solo run though, up in the air with Captain Reed – Bravo six three – as the bandit again and Major Peter Bickford – Bravo six one – as his lead.

"Bravo six one engaged, ID hostile, hostile, MIG 21," Bickford called for help urgently, in character.

"Bravo six two, press," Lorne returned, flying high and scanning below him for a visual.

"Bravo six one is merging offensive," Bickford reported just as Evan spotted both planes moving in to circle each other.

"Bravo six two, Tally visual," Lorne let his lead know he had both planes in sight, needing only to confirm who was who to press for a shot.

"Tally one high, eight o'clock high," Bickford gave his status clear and rapid, putting the bandit south west from Lorne's position.

"Repositioning low," Lorne returned, circling and coming in with the other two planes above him. According to what Bickford had told him, lead was closest to his position with the bandit breaking hard left from six o'clock in pursuit. He waited for them to complete the merge and then pulled up on the bandit, getting a quick lock.

Finger on the trigger, shoot cue flashing on his HUD, Evan was all set to take the shot but something made him hesitate. Instinct – be it from the multitude of inputs he'd been getting during the manoeuvre or just from gut feel – said something was off with the identification of who was who in the zoo.

He knew Bickford had said the bandit was high but it didn't gel. "Bravo six two, roll out," he watched as the high plane rolled right, the other plane following suit moments later. He'd been right ... his lead wasn't the closer of the two planes.

"Bravo six two, repositioning high," he reported, pulling big G's to match the bandit circling below while climbing steadily to a higher altitude. Dipping his nose down again, he zeroed in on the bandit.

"Bravo six two, shot in five," Lorne said. "Fox 2." The shots were away, the battle over.

"Valid," Captain Reed reported in. "What took you so long?"

"Ah ... just a little confusion in the zoo," Lorne said diplomatically, not wanting to suggest that Major Bickford had mislead him without seeing the tapes first.

"Yeah, all from me," Bickford wasn't so reticent about waiting for the tapes. "Sorry Captain. Nice work saving my ass there."

"No problem Sir," Evan said easily.

oOo

The remainder of Lorne's solo mission went without a hitch, Captain Reed and Major Bickford both complimenting him on his quick thinking.

"How'd you know I'd given you a faulty status report?" Bickford asked curiously after they'd run through playbacks on the entire mission at his debrief.

"No idea Sir," Lorne admitted ruefully. "I'd had a pretty good run on keeping tally visual the entire time and something just ... felt off."

"Don't underestimate instinct Captain," Bickford cautioned. "Often it feels like you're just listening to your gut but up here," he pointed to his head, "your brain's taken in all the details and hit you with the answer. Not something we can always explain."

"Would you have taken the shot?" Lorne asked curiously. "I wasn't sure – and we _were_ getting high on the elapsed time."

"I don't know," Bickford admitted. "Depends on how much my gut was screaming at me. In reality you'd hope your lead wasn't going to fuck up their status report like I did today – there's a pretty high trust element there too. Can't question your lead unless you're damn sure there's a problem because they're looking to you to help. The longer you delay the longer they're fighting alone and the closer they are to getting hunted down by the bandit."

"Assumptions are the number one cause of errors," Captain Reed stated. "Nine times out of ten that's a pilot assuming they know who's who in the zoo without confirmation. But that one time it's the pilot assuming lead couldn't possibly make an error even if there's evidence to the contrary."

"So – I should be thanking you for giving me a dud status check then Sir," Evan suggested, expression bland.

"Why's that Captain?" Bickford asked with a frown.

"Well, I never would have actively considered what I'd do if I suspected an error otherwise Sir," Lorne began. "And I'm thinking the beer rule should apply in reverse," he grinned suddenly. "Which would make me pretty damn popular with the other rookies tonight."

"He's got you there," Reed said with a laugh.

"He does," Bickford narrowed his eyes at Evan before chuckling ruefully. "I'll pay this one Lorne – because you didn't shoot me when you could have. You'll get your 40 ... and some kudos from your mates."

"Thank you Sir," Lorne said respectfully.

"You did good today," Bickford summarised. "Good comms all day, good fight set ups all day. Overall an above average performance."

"I'm gonna have to stop signing up to be your bandit," Reed joked, paying Lorne a high compliment. "You're screwing up my averages."

"Don't spoil all my fun," Evan retorted.

All three men laughed, the mission debrief ending with Lorne feeling very much a part of the camaraderie between the two very experienced fighter pilots. Almost as if he were one of them ... which made it an excellent day as far as he was concerned.

oOo

Sadly, not all his classmates had had as good as day as Lorne's.

Things had not improved for Cade Boston, who was staring down the barrel of three successive failed missions. That might not seem like much but in fighter school it was enough to have Cade going from being one of the stars of the course to being a marked man.

It wasn't just a matter of casting doubt in your instructor's minds about whether you were up to it. It was also about flight hours. Trainees were assigned a set number of hours to pass the course – every failed mission meant a repeat, using up some of those valuable hours. If you failed too many missions you'd run out of time before you got to the end. The course coordinators wouldn't let it get that far of course ... you'd be reviewed long before you flunked the course because you were out of flight time.

It was Marcus who suggested they take the night off, head into town and play some pool, have a few drinks and just forget for a few hours that they were even trainee fighter pilots.

"I ah ...," Lorne hesitated, feeling himself flushing slightly.

"Got a hot date ... _Love_?" Drew teased.

"Not exactly," Evan admitted. "I did kind of promise Steph I'd catch up with her tonight though. I've been putting her off for over a week so ...," he trailed off with a shrug.

"You don't want to cancel again," Drew concluded.

"Bring her along," Marcus suggested lightly.

"You sure?" Lorne frowned, not wanting to change the dynamic of what would have been a 'team' event.

"Hey, we'd rather look at her pretty face over your ugly mug any day," John ducked out of the way when Evan made a play at directing a punch his way.

"Okay, I'll ask her," Lorne agreed. "Don't be surprised if she passes on the chance to spend time with your less than charming selves."

Getting up he headed for the phone, ignoring the comments being yelled out behind him.

oOo

"Is Cade okay?" Steph drew Evan closer, speaking close to his ear as she watched Cade head for the bar and another round of drinks. They'd been at the pool hall and bar for over an hour and the mood of the group was light hearted and festive. Apart from Cade, who seemed visibly mired down by the weight of his own thoughts.

"A couple of bad missions," Evan said by way of explanation.

"Recoverable?" Steph had been around base long enough to appreciate how fortunes changed at the drop of a hat.

"Probably," Evan kept his eyes on Cade, watching him get their drinks without his usual blushing friendliness for the female bartender with a frown. "If he can get over himself."

"Evan!" Steph scolded, glaring at him.

"What?!" he shifted back to look at her. "I just meant he has to get over the personal angle and focus on what has to be done to turn it around. Switch off the 'why me' machine that's got all the negative thoughts pumping in his head."

"Oh," Steph frowned for a moment before smiling. "And I suppose you've got a plan for helping him with that."

"Still thinking about it," Evan admitted. "Maybe after a couple more drinks something will occur to me."

Cade's timely arrival halted their conversation, drawing the six rookies plus one together into the one conversation again.

Marcus had been very quiet for most of the evening too, not exactly out of character but something worth noting. He took a few sips of his beer before putting his glass down resolutely and clearing his throat.

"I've been thinking about something for a couple of months now," he began, getting everyone's attention immediately. "This is probably gonna surprise most of you," he met Evan's eyes before continuing, "but I ah ... I've decided to quit the F-18 training program."

There was utter silence before he got his first reaction.

"What the fuck?!" Cade shot to his feet, glaring angrily down at the other man. "You got what it takes to get to the end and you're just gonna throw it away like it's nothing? Fuck you man!"

"Cade," Evan was standing before he'd even thought about it, putting a hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"No," Cade turned to Lorne, anger blaring from his eyes. "No! He doesn't get to just quit!"

"I don't have it," Marcus hadn't taken offence, his tone quiet and purposeful. "Not like the rest of you. You know what I'm talking about Cade. That kill or be killed instinct. It's not me."

"Yeah well then maybe you shouldn't have joined the service," Cade spat out sarcastically. "Cause it's a little hard to be a solider if you're not prepared to kill."

"You're right," Marcus waited for Cade to really look at him, waited for him to see the truth.

Cade stopped, his breathing harsh, eyes locked on Marcus.

"Have you told anyone?" John finally broke the silence to ask.

"I spoke to Major Baker today," Marcus admitted. "Let's just say he was less than impressed but at the end of the day he understood my reasons. Didn't seem all that surprised to be honest."

"This is just wacked," Cade muttered, his expression one of a man discovering the world was not the place he'd imagined it to be. "How can you throw away _six fucking months_ of training?"

"How can I not?" Marcus returned. "Listen ... this wasn't an easy decision. I've spent weeks doubting myself, doubting my motives ... ever since we started BFM's. It's not a whim."

"What are you gonna do next?" Neil asked.

"Go back to my unit, serve out the rest of my term," Marcus replied. "Then I don't know ... get a commercial license and see what happens after that."

"Fly but not fight," Lorne summarised in a low voice.

"Exactly," Marcus smiled, appreciating being understood.

"You knew," Drew narrowed his eyes at his friend.

"That Marcus was questioning things, yes," Evan got a nod from Marcus before answering. "Tonight is as big a surprise to me as it is to the rest of you. But," and he looked pointedly at Cade before continuing, "I fully support Marcus's decision. Just because it's _your_ dream to be a fighter pilot doesn't make it wrong for Marcus to realise his dreams lie elsewhere. Dreams aren't about talent or capability. They're about desire ... that's why we don't always get there, no matter how hard we try."

"Yeah, you got that right," Cade sat down abruptly, taking a large swallow from his glass before looking away.

"You haven't failed yet," Lorne nudged the younger man with his boot, drawing his attention. "But I guarantee you will if you continue with that attitude. So you failed a couple of missions. So what? You wouldn't be the first and you won't be the last. And I bet if you asked any one of the instructors they'd be able to tell you about someone, maybe even themselves, who did just as badly but made it in the end."

"Who died and put you in charge of morale," Cade spoke resentfully. Lorne said nothing, waiting. A few tense seconds passed and then Cade gave a big sigh and looked up at Evan. "Sorry," he muttered, embarrassed. "I'm just not used to failing – it sucks, big time."

"It does," Evan agreed simply, finally feeling he could retake his seat next to Steph without the threat of fisticuffs.

"What would you know about failure?" Cade shook his head. "That sounded bad but you know what I mean. You're sitting on a perfect record man!"

"And it wasn't my dream to be doing an F-18 training program right now," Evan returned irritably. "Sometimes you have to make that mental shift, make the most of what you're dealt."

"NASA," Drew said under his breath.

"Yeah," Evan shrugged. "You wanna talk about failure, try gearing your whole career to get into one program, only to be told thanks for coming, you're the runner up so we'll call you if someone drops out. You know it's wrong but deep down you hope like hell someone will drop out ... only they don't."

"You can't try again?" Steph spoke up for the first time, putting a hand on Evan's forearm.

"I could," he acknowledged. "And I will – but the window on getting into the astronaut program is really small and I'm on the edge of it already. It's completely out of my control whether they'll even consider me a second time."

"You're right," Cade grinned suddenly. "That does suck worse than a couple of failed missions I can repeat."

"Yeah – thanks for the sympathy buddy," Evan said snidely.

"So if you can't be an astronaut, being a fighter pilot is the next best thing?" Drew asked.

"For me it is," Lorne shrugged. "For now anyway. You take the opportunities where they come. Who knows where you could end up because you did."

"It's worth acknowledging," John looked around the table as he spoke. "Not all of us are gonna make it and even if we do, not all of us are gonna stick with it all the way 'till they retire us."

"But we'll always be a part of the club," Neil concluded, raising his glass expectantly. Everyone followed suit, waiting for him to speak again. "The cougars," he said solemnly.

"The cougars," Evan echoed along with five other men, Steph watching on with a fond smile.

The rest of the night passed without incident, everyone carefully not acknowledging what they all knew to be true. Come tomorrow Captain Marcus 'Right' Price would be packing up his gear and leaving 410 Squadron. And while he'd always be a part of the club it would be different ... just by sheer distance alone as well as the unavoidable fact that the remaining five rookies would be continuing on the path that was no longer his. They would all have experiences he could no longer share.

As Lorne let himself be drawn into the jokes and teasing and seemingly endless rounds of drinking, part of him couldn't help but dwell on the changes that were sure to follow.

There was no escaping that one trainee questioning themselves, challenging whether they were following the right dream would have consequences for all of them. Maybe they'd be positive, maybe not. Only time would tell.

**Authors Note:**

Okay, first up thank you to Keeter for pointing out that in reality Lorne as an F-16 pilot _would_ be a fighter pilot. I made the decision to go back and remove that aspect of Lorne's past because as I went on it just became more and more of a problem for continuing the story forward. Now, instead of having served at Aviano base as an F-16 pilot for a time, Lorne instead spent additional time flying experimental or development versions of the F-16 for the NASA Dryden Flight Research Centre - his last post before going to Cold Lake in this story. This way I justify him having an edge early in the course but bring him back to a level playing field for the rest.

My usual acknowledgement for basic training content, anything cool sounding during the flying bits, including some direct quotes here and there - all gratefully and respectfully taken from the Jetstream program. What a wealth of material for me to play with!

In this chapter I was attempting to get more at the heart of what makes Lorne the man he is as we know him in Atlantis as well as hint via his younger self that maybe some of those dreams he thinks of as unlikely do come true in the future, just not how he expected. So I hope that comes over as intended.

For anyone interested I have posted on Youtube (under Shaviva3) a fan video devoted to the eye candy that is Kavan Smith ... to the song I want Candy of course. It's called 'I want candy ... Kavan candy' and features scenes and audio spanning Kavan's career - not just Atlantis although there is plenty of that in there too. If you want to have a watch, search for Kavan Smith - it comes up second under featured videos when I do that. And if you go to all that effort I hope you enjoy it!


	7. Do and Don’t Die

**Chapter 7: Do and Don't Die**

Four weeks later the blow of Marcus leaving had been swallowed up in the increasing demands of training. Not that any of them had forgotten ... all of them had questioned themselves, testing that internal certainty that being a fighter pilot was the calling they should be pursuing. The fact that they were all still there, despite the internal introspection, was probably answer enough ... for the time being.

A month of ACMs had gone by with good results for most of the rookies ... except for Cade, who still struggled to get real runs on the board. Something was holding him back but Lorne just couldn't work out what it was, no matter how many times he'd tried to talk to the younger man. It wasn't knowledge – Cade knew his stuff forwards, backwards and upside down. And it wasn't flying skill either ... before air combat manoeuvres Cade had been one of the most talented fliers of their group. Evan had wondered about the killer instinct side of things – after all, that was what had brought Marcus down. But in Cade's case Lorne really did think he had everything it took to be a fighter pilot. At the end of the day Evan was forced to conclude that it was as simple as confidence and the fact that Cade had let his failures deflate his. Unlike Drew's problem with night flying, Evan didn't have a simple fix – there really wasn't any way he could take Cade up in the sky and trick him into believing in himself again.

The young Lieutenant had been given four additional hours of flight time with which to repeat the ACM missions he'd failed. He'd scrapped through a couple of them but was looking at having to repeat ACM5 after two failures. If he didn't pass the mission the third time he'd be up for review and in all likelihood out the door.

The day before Cade was due up again Evan watched him settling into the study room, books and folders open around him. Strategy theory and practice. Reports from his prior attempts. Reports of successful missions the others had flown and offered up for Cade to study. It was the same routine the younger man followed before every mission and Lorne realised suddenly that he couldn't let him continue.

"Stop," he said abruptly, causing Cade and the others to all look at him in confusion.

"Stop what?" Cade asked with a frown, glancing down at his open folder and then back to Lorne with a puzzled frown.

"This," Evan waved a hand at Cade's workstation. "Studying until you can hardly see straight."

"I get one more chance!" Cade shot back impatiently. "If I don't pass this mission tomorrow then I might as well pack my bags and head home because for sure the review board is gonna kick my ass out of here!"

"I get that," Evan said mildly. "What I don't get is why you think doing the same thing you've done every other time is going to get you a different result." It was a saying Evan's grandfather had always repeated whenever Evan had been upset about a childhood disappointment like not getting selected for the basketball team because they'd said he was too short. _If you always do what you've always done then you'll always get what you've always got._ It sounded simple but it still surprised Evan how profound it could actually be. People were creatures of habit ... they sat it the same chair for every training course, drank the same drinks at social functions ... and prepared for tests the same way every time.

"Well, what would you suggest then?" Cade's tone was just shy of sarcastic.

"Combat of a different sort," Evan said simply, grinning as he watched interest dawn in the young pilots eyes. Turning to look at Drew, Lorne raised an eyebrow questioningly. "You in?" he asked.

"In what?" Drew asked at the same time that John started to chuckle.

"Count me in," John said, nodding to Evan approvingly. He might not have worked out the specifics but he'd deduced enough to know in general what Lorne was planning.

"Me too," Neil agreed, laughing as he continued. "I have no idea what for but whatever it is I'm in."

"Let's do it then," Evan said, getting up and heading for the door, trusting that Cade would follow the others.

oOo

"Paintball?" Cade asked disbelievingly, his eyes shifting from the building they'd pulled up outside of to look at Lorne. "You want to play _paintball_?"

"Why not?" Lorne replied. He'd called Steph before he'd joined the others out in the car park, getting directions to 'Skirmish'. It was the name of an indoor paintball business he only knew about because she'd mentioned it a few weeks before. They had to go indoor because winter had already set in at Cold Lake and the entire area was blanketed in a covering of white.

"This is gonna be great!" Neil grinned excitedly, getting out of the vehicle and squinting up at the 'Skirmish' sign. "How do we do this?"

"Teams," Evan said. Noticing a car pulling into the car park he grinned. "Three a side," he added, waving at the man who got out and headed towards them. He'd made a second call back at the base, needing to even up the numbers.

"Marcus!" Cade grinned, meeting the other man half way and holding out a hand. Marcus grinned too, slapping a hand to the other mans shoulder, his relief apparent. It was the first time they'd seen him since he'd left the course voluntarily – it would have been normal to worry that Cade would hold a grudge, given his initial reaction and the troubles he was currently having. Thankfully that wasn't the case.

"Guys," Marcus said, nodding to everyone.

"So ...," Evan began after all the greetings had been done, looking at Cade. "Drew, Marcus and I against you, Neil and John. Capture the flag."

"You're on," Cade looked relaxed, putting his concerns about the next's days mission aside.

Skirmish was a large warehouse divided into four smaller enclosed areas. Inside, each had been divided in half with its own base of operations and barriers strategically placed around it for protection. Evan and Cade each took one base for their team, all six men gearing up with protective masks and thick shirts to cover their arms. Armed with paintball markers – guns with hoppers to keep the ammunition loading – they each retreated to their own base of operations to talk strategy.

The aim of capture the flag was to move on the enemy base of operations, steal their flag and return it to your own base. If you did that without getting tagged then you won. If you were hit with a paintball from the opposing side then you became one of the opposition, shifting the weight of numbers to the enemy.

"What's the plan?" Drew asked Lorne as the three gathered together.

Evan had assessed the 'terrain' on their way over, getting a map in his head of the most defensible positions as well as possible paths to the enemy base.

"The better question is what will _Cade's_ plan be?" he replied.

"He'll go on the attack," Marcus stated confidently. "He'd keen to get the win so he'll leave his base vulnerable."

"Exactly," Evan grinned. "So we use that against him."

"We let them come to us," Drew concluded.

"To start with, until we've got the numbers in our favour," Evan agreed. "Then we go on the attack."

Agreeing on their defensive positions, the three men crept towards the barriers they'd chosen. Drew and Marcus were guarding the team flag, taking cover such that they could maintain vision on the most likely approach and pin down any targets before they could get too close. Lorne was playing defensive sweep, hanging back and covering the less likely routes. If they held position – didn't let themselves be drawn out or distracted into creating blind spots – they should be able to hold their flag indefinitely.

Cade held true to their assessment. His confidence was on the ebb and rather than think about his opponent he was thinking only about what he needed to do to get that winning feeling back. The aim of the game was to capture the flag, not defend it, and that was all Cade was focussed on.

It was a risk ... Lorne's plan to teach Cade something from the way he lost might only result in flattening Cade's confidence even more, assuming Evan's team did in fact manage to take the victory. But Lorne believed it would do the trick where everything else had failed – flip that necessary switch in the other man's head so he could look at aerial combat differently that he had so far.

Rather than send his team out one man at a time Cade had gone for a combined frontal assault while he himself tried to come around the back. Drew and Marcus waited patiently until John and Neil drew close enough, firing warning shots to pin the other two men down behind the last barriers for their side. Cade paid the open battle little attention, focussed on his own objective without considering that Lorne might have done the same thing – committed most of his team in an obvious show of defence while holding himself back.

Evan couldn't help but grin as he watched Cade creeping slowly forward, moving from barrier to barrier swiftly as he headed around the outer edge of the battle zone. Lorne let him pass his position before making his own move. Cade had taken cover behind one of Lorne's barriers but rather than help his team by taking out Drew and Marcus, instead he had his sights only on the flag. He didn't notice when Lorne moved forward silently.

"I don't think so," Evan said quietly as he placed the nozzle of his gun in the small of Cade's back.

Cade groaned as he turned and looked behind him. "Damn," he muttered as Lorne calmly shot a paintball so that it just grazed the back of his shirt – at that close range a direct hit would have caused more than a little pain and left a nasty bruise behind.

"Now you work for me," Evan announced in a low voice with a smirk. "And the first thing you're gonna do is head back to your base acting like you've got our flag. Your team won't know you've been converted until they see the back of you. We'll cover you until you get to that point and take them out when they least expect it."

"You're enjoying this aren't you?" Cade muttered, shaking his head when Lorne just grinned and shrugged. "Fine," the younger man tried to keep his expression disgruntled but couldn't in the face of Evan's obvious delight in having got one over on him. "Tricking John and Neil should be worth a few laughs," he admitted, shouldering his paintball gun and heading out.

Evan moved closer to Drew and Marcus, quickly filling them in on the revised plan. It went like clockwork, John and Neil's loud protests when Cade got behind them and they saw that he'd been hit clearly audible. Before they could do anything else Marcus and Drew had shot them and it was game over.

"You knew I'd go all out for the flag didn't you?" Cade asked Lorne as they regrouped to discuss the first round.

"You're looking for an ego boost," Evan said bluntly. "Understandable but it's a weakness too easy to use against you. Now that we've shown you the error of your ways you can forget about that and focus on the battle itself."

Cade frowned, looking for the meaning in Lorne's words. Evan let him think for a moment before explaining. "Every battle has to be about winning," he said, "but it's more than that. Winning isn't a general thing – it's a specific battle against a specific enemy and you have to use everything you know about that enemy. If you're just thinking about winning you'll ignore who it is you're trying to win against."

"Like I've been doing in the air," Cade commented, his expression making it clear he wasn't taking offence but instead listening intently.

"_Exactly_," Evan agreed with a nod. "Take Major Baker for example. He's got a tonne of experience so he's probably seen every play in the book. Beating him means doing something he wouldn't expect – having that at the forefront of your mind. I'm not saying it's easy because we're all still just trying to get our heads around the basics but if you're thinking about it then maybe you see an opportunity you wouldn't have otherwise."

"I've been too 'by the book'," Cade looked at Evan with dawning understanding. "I had a set of plays I'd worked out and memorised. Every mission sticking to the game plan wasn't working but I couldn't see any other way to go."

"Game plan is good but there's too much going on up there to rely solely on that," John spoke up at that point. "Anything can give you a victory if you look at it the right way. Like SureLorne here ... he used our loyalty against us because he knew we'd see you coming back our way and we wouldn't believe you'd trick us like that – until it was too late."

"That was sweet by the way," John added, grinning at Lorne with obvious enjoyment. "I don't know about Neil but Cade had me completely fooled."

"Yeah, me too," Neil admitted. "Didn't suspect a thing – I really thought you were coming back with their flag."

"That'll only work once," Drew pointed out. "What are we gonna do for the next round?"

"There's always another trick," Cade said it before Evan could.

"We're toast now," Marcus muttered, pretend glaring at Lorne. "You couldn't wait till _after_ we'd whipped their asses before sharing your wisdom?"

"Where's the challenge in that?" Evan shot back with a laugh.

oOo

After another three rounds that included swapping the teams around, the results ended up pretty even. Cade had taken Lorne's first victory to heart, continuing to lead a team as he tried to both think outside the box and anticipate what his opponents would do.

Games done, drinks drunk and farewells to Marcus completed, the trainees headed back to Cold Lake base. Maybe the afternoon of recreation would help Cade up in the air the next day and maybe it wouldn't. At the very least he'd take a fresh perspective into his next mission ... he wouldn't be repeating the same approach he'd tried before. Lorne could only hope the end result would be different as well.

oOo

While Cade went up for his final shot at ACM5 the rest of the group were headed for an entirely different kind of mission. At their briefing the new Standards Officer, Major Steven 'Jimmy' Bond laid it out in plain English.

"You guys have flown battle missions," Bond began. "You've outrun, outgunned, and out manoeuvred every enemy so far but there's one enemy you can't win against. The ground. And while it might seem beyond stupid to court disaster with a low flight, sometimes it's either that or getting taken down by the enemy. You skim the ground to survive even though down there you're only two seconds away from your very own crash site."

He let that sink in for a few moments before continuing. "Low level flying is one of the most dangerous lessons you're going to learn here. The mission will simulate the process of getting below enemy radar – or shaking a missile on your tail. You'll be nervous as hell ... and so will your instructors."

"Why?" Neil asked, surprised. "Haven't they done hundreds of low flight missions before?"

"So you're telling me you'd be completely comfortable sitting in Major Baker's back seat doing 600 miles an hour 300 feet off the ground?" Major Bond returned. "There's only a small window of opportunity to correct the situation if it doesn't go according to plan – nobody's experienced enough to take that without the nerves making an appearance."

Lorne nodded, knowing it was true. He'd be nervous doing a low flight no matter whether he was flying or just along for the ride. If he was honest, he'd prefer to be the one doing the flying – the one in control – and trust had nothing to do with it. You didn't become a fighter pilot because you were the type to be happy letting someone else do the work.

"So you aim for 300 feet," Major Bond continued, "but you settle at the level you're most comfortable with – inside your fear of death range. If that's 350 feet or even 400 feet then no one's gonna even comment on it."

It was what the instructors called the altitude a rookie naturally gravitated towards. They were supposed to fly at 300 feet for the mission but in most courses rookies settled at around 400 feet. And that was perfectly okay – this was the one mission where students weren't pushed hard because screwing up had dire consequences and you couldn't complete a mission if you'd already hit the ground.

"Okay, gear up," Bond concluded, waving a hand for the rookies to proceed.

"You nervous?" Drew asked quietly as he dropped into step beside Evan.

"Am I breathing?" Lorne muttered back, grabbing his flight suit and pulling it on.

Drew laughed, slapped him on the back and then went to grab his own suit.

Evan continued his preparations, knowing Drew thought he was joking. Truth be known Lorne was feeling more than a little nervous, the whole idea of skimming the ground a little too close to the tail end of his worst nightmares.

The Hornet, skimming the tree line mostly out of control. The screaming of the engine reverberating in his ears, the natural noise of the plane being amplified that low to the ground. The boom and the cloud of smoke that always appeared just before he woke up.

"_Don't go there_," he told himself, the familiar mental words somehow helping him refocus.

"Ready Captain," Major Baker strode in, already geared up.

"Yes Sir," Lorne replied, straightening, helmet in hand.

"Okay, let's get this over with then," Baker replied with a smirk.

Nodding, Lorne led the way outside, walking across the tarmac under a cold winter blue sky. Moments later he had the plane in the air and was ready to begin the low flying portion of the day.

"Drop it down to 300 or your comfort zone," Baker instructed.

Lorne responded immediately, setting a flight angle that had them approaching the ground smoothly. He took it to 400 feet to start with, getting a feel for how the plane handled that close to the ground and how he felt being there.

The ride was rough ... turbulence hammered the plane enough that you could see it in how the wings visibly wobbled up and down. He had to control the stick more, keep a firm but steady hand ... and he had to ignore the way the ground seemed to loom underneath him as though just waiting for the chance to reach up and reclaim him.

It was scary and unnerving to begin with but then Evan began to feel something else ... exhilaration. His blood was pumping determinedly and his heart was beating a rapid pulse throughout his body. He felt alive and strangely in control in a way that was different than when he was up at a higher altitude. It was enough to have him dropping the plane carefully to 300 feet only seconds later.

"Keep it steady," Baker cautioned needlessly from the back, the first sign that he wasn't exactly feeling his usual comfort levels.

"Rolling for ten," Lorne announced, turning the plane upside down. The ground felt close enough through the clear canopy to reach out and touch. "Horizon," Evan announced when they were dead straight but upside down. Taking it back around again the plane ended up at around 4000 feet again. "And back to basics," he concluded once he'd righted the plane.

"Nice work," Baker complimented. "How did that feel?" It wasn't the usual question but the mission was one that had even the most hard assed of instructors getting in touch with their soft and cuddly sides.

"It felt good," Evan admitted, still amazed at himself.

"Okay, good, good," Baker agreed. "Continue."

"Continuing," Lorne acknowledged. "Ten for five." He took the plane back close to the ground again, settling at just over 300 feet. "And there we go," he added with a grin.

The ground was a blur beneath them as Evan followed the landscape for a few moments ... so low the feeling of speed was more intense than it would have been up higher.

"Ready with 400 knots," Evan announced once he was all set to do the next low flight manoeuvre.

"Go," Baker instructed.

Lorne dipped the left wing down as he counted out the time and actions. "Five, ten, fifteen, a thousand one, a thousand two, rolling for five." He swung the plane back the other way, levelling and then dipping the right wing. When he straightened they were back to just over a thousand feet.

"Terrain is flat, five for four," he reported, taking the plane back down towards the ground. "Levelling," he announced when they were at 300 feet again, the last of the required patterns done.

"All right," Major Baker said with clear relief in his voice. "We're alive. I'm alive. It's all good."

Mission completed – the only low level flight of the course – Lorne headed back to Cold Lake. They ploughed the tarmac as needed but it was still like landing into a sea of white ... Lorne wouldn't admit it but the lines of runway appearing out of the distance appealed to the artist in him, in a minimalist way. Touching down he quickly brought the plane to a standstill and did all the post flight activities to park her.

"That wasn't so bad, was it Sir?" he asked as the two men headed back to the main office of 410 squadron.

"You flew it a little lower than my comfort level for a rookie," Baker admitted ruefully, "but you seemed comfortable so ...," he trailed off with a chuckle. "I take it that means you enjoyed it?"

"I did," Evan agreed. "Surprised the hell out of me Sir because I was pretty damned nervous beforehand."

"Everyone usually is," Baker replied. "But you did good – takes you one step closer to the end."

"Yes Sir," Evan returned, his thoughts turning to Cade and wondering how he'd gone.

They didn't have to wait long to find out, the grin and general air of relief mixed with triumph evident as soon as Cade and his instructor walked in the door.

"Passed," Cade said simply, smiling at the spontaneous round of cheers and back slaps his words generated. Lorne felt relieved even as he joined in with congratulating his team mate. Cade had been given an hour to turn his fortunes around – probably the most high pressure hour of his life – and he'd come through. He'd still be under scrutiny, still couldn't afford to mess up another mission, but it was a very definite step in the right direction and hopefully a turn around the corner towards passing the course. You only got one shot at being a fighter pilot and Cade had shown that he still deserved to be in the game

oOo

When you served on a military base November 11th wasn't just another day. It meant something ... even if you'd never seen combat yourself, never lost a comrade to war.

Remembrance.

Taking the time to actively remember the service men and women who'd made the ultimate sacrifice for their countries, as well as civilians who'd died during times of war. The fact that most ceremonies were timed for the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month to align them with the time when the major hostilities of World War I were formally ended in 1918 gave left no room for excuses in not pausing for those moments of reflection.

In Canada Lorne discovered the day was a public holiday with ceremonies held in various places around the country. For the squadrons and personnel of Cold Lake base it meant putting on their dress blues and pinning red poppies on their lapels to participate in a time honoured tradition.

Evan carefully smoothed down his collar and made sure his poppy was secure as he followed his classmates across the frozen ground towards Cold Lake's memorial site. Standing to attention, hand on his chest and breath wafting a faint cloud of warmth into the cold air, he listened respectfully as the commanding officer of the base spoke.

"Today we pause to remember the courageous individuals whose names are inscribed in this four wing memorial, knowing that a tremendous and overwhelming debt is owed to all our fallen heroes."

The words were rousing and sentimental and sincere. Official address complete, all those present removed their hats, waiting for the next part.

"I would ask you at this time to read the names of those who have died," the base commander concluded.

Evan had been given a name along with everyone else the day before. "Captain Michael Hardy," he said in a strong voice when it was his turn, his thoughts on what he'd found out about Hardy when he'd asked around that morning. It didn't seem enough to Lorne to remember a name without attempting to put a personal face on it. What he'd discovered was that Michael Hardy had been an earnest young man of 25 ... and a talented pilot who'd been killed during training ten years before, leaving behind a mother, father, and brother to miss him. It was a harsh message about what could happen, even when war wasn't at your doorstep.

The reciting of names complete, the ceremony ended with eight servicemen standing single file, shouldering their rifles and each firing a single shot into the air simultaneously. Evan walked back to squadron headquarters with his class, thinking that it had been a few weeks and he really should call his Mom ... just to let her know he was doing okay.

oOo

At Cold Lake the weather was almost like another classmate they had to allow for – a demanding, random, inconsiderate and often painfully annoying classmate who got way too much attention. When winter descended on the base it usually maintained its grip for five long months, months during which the lake became a 140 square mile slushy. From a meteorological point of view it was probably fascinating to see the churning mess of icy water slowly releasing the heat it had soaked up during the summer months, warm moist air that mixed with the cold air above it. Sometimes, when the wind was blowing just right, the result was a base that was centre stage inside a giant swirl of snow, like a snow globe someone had set to continuous movement.

Yeah, the weather was a pain in the ass, messing with schedules across the entire base. For 410 squadron the impact often saw the duty officer in charge of scheduling practically pulling his hair out as he tried to fit essential training flights in around the activities of a fully operational air force base. The fact that they were rookies only made it harder because visibility below a certain level restricted rookie solo flights, not that there were many of those.

The weather was a fickle classmate too – all too often it would be bad in the morning but a couple of hours later open up enough for a few missions to be run. That meant you had to hang around to be there if it happened so you could take advantage of it. It was a rollercoaster of anticipation, preparation, disappointment and boredom that had everyone on edge.

As the class moved from ACMs into ACTs – air combat theatre – the weathers contribution to the pressure was just another element for the trainees to absorb. For Lorne it was all about keeping up his facade – he hated the cold and spending months in the midst of it hadn't improved his position on that. Of course Drew knew he was putting on the brave face and liked nothing better than to rib Evan about it.

"You're looking a little cold there buddy – you want a blanket or something?" he asked with pretended solicitousness the night before one of their key ACT missions.

"Now that you mention it ...," Evan trailed off, looking at Drew expectantly.

"Right," Drew laughed, getting up and grabbing a rug someone had left in the study room the day before. Throwing it so it landed over Evan and half his books, he laughed harder as Lorne tried to untangle himself without knocking everything to the floor.

"You can laugh now but remember one thing," Evan said lightly when he was clear. "I'm only here for another year. You're stuck in the land of cold for the rest of your life."

"You'll miss this when you're sweating your ass off back home," Drew countered.

"I don't think so," Lorne shot back. "Now shut the hell up – I'll trying to study here."

Still chuckling Drew opened his own books and got down to work.

oOo

"Welcome to the mission brief for ACT 8," Major Bickford greeted them first thing the next morning.

This was the one Evan had been looking forward to. A combat scenario that was as close to the real thing as you could get.

"Directive 6828 has been invoked and supported by all nation participating coalition partners," Bickford continued, displaying a map on the overhead projector. Three countries had been labelled ... Redland, Blueland and between the two Orangeland. Three fictional countries to represent what was a real air combat scenario. "Redland doesn't acknowledge the existence of Orangeland and as such that area has been under dispute," the senior instructor explained. "We've received word that Orangeland is about to be attacked. The mission is to defend their airspace against unknown enemy air threats. For your threat today we have up to 6 MIG 29 Charlies."

Lorne listened intently as Major Bickford continued to explain how the day would work. Each student would be a part of a two ship formation. An instructor would fly lead with a student on wing flying solo. They wouldn't know what they'd be up against – anywhere from 1 to 6 enemy aircraft (flown by top gun pilots they'd brought in to pose as the bandits) in any number of groups or formations. Each pair would defend the airspace until they'd almost run out of gas and then a fresh team would take over. That meant timing would be critical, each new pair having to arrive to overlap with the retreating pair.

Evan was teamed up with Major Baker again and did his best to hide the excitement bubbling away inside. It wasn't a game but it did feel a little like they were heading out to play war games. Eyes fixed on the sky outside, Lorne kept his mental fingers crossed that the weather would hold steady. They had clear sky showing in patches through snow laden clouds and as long as visibility continued as it was they'd be good to go. Any worse and they wouldn't get to fly – not solo anyway.

The order and make up of the teams had already been decided. Lorne had drawn the short straw and was up last so he had quite a wait ahead of him. Cade was up first with Captain Reed flying his lead, Neil was next with Major Bond, then John with Major Bickford, Drew with Major Wilson and finally Lorne with Baker. They all hung around the main office, watching as the first team headed out.

"This should be interesting," Drew muttered under his breath, eyes fixed on the runway as Cade and Reed took off in formation.

"Yeah," Evan agreed. "Playing the bandits has to be an adrenalin high for these guys."

They fell silent, wondering what was going on up there but having no real way to know until Cade returned. With a tank of fuel on board the Hornet could go around 1200 miles which equated to about an hour of continuous flight under fighting conditions while still leaving fuel for the return trip home. Neil was geared up and ready to go a few minutes before schedule and bid them all his usual sunny goodbye as he headed out to relieve the first team in the air.

"How are things going with Steph?" Drew asked out of the blue.

"Fine," Lorne returned, frowning. "Why?"

"No reason," Drew shrugged. "Just making conversation."

"Right," Evan narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"You gonna keep seeing her after we graduate?" Drew queried curiously.

"You're asking me about that _now_?" Lorne asked incredulously.

"What, you haven't thought about the what next?" his friend countered.

"No I haven't," Lorne shot back intently. "There's still a ways to go yet and I'm not assuming anything. Besides, there're no guarantees on what squadron we get placed with after training."

"True," Drew agreed. "And some of them aren't exactly local."

"It's gonna be bad enough having the class split up," Evan admitted to having thought about that at least.

"It'll be different but the distance won't matter," Drew said decisively. It was true ... the months of living in each other's pockets, going through the same pressures and triumphs created a bond that lasted a lifetime.

Before Lorne could reply their attention was drawn to the tarmac where Cade's Hornet was coasting to a stop. Moments later their classmate was pushing open the door, grin firmly in place.

"Now that was fun," he announced.

"The airspace of Orangeland lives on undamaged," Captain Reed said as he followed Cade inside.

"Good to hear," Drew grinned over at Evan, both of them relieved to see the old, confident Cade still firmly in residence.

oOo

It seemed the day dragged on until finally it was Evan's turn to gear up and prepare to take Drew's place in the air.

"We've tried your patience today son," Major Baker commented with a smirk as the two walked across the tarmac. Miraculously the weather had held long enough to get Lorne into the cockpit solo. The sky was darker and heavier though, the threat of snow and increased winds driving them to get up there before conditions at base got any worse.

"My Mom would remind me that it's character building Sir," Evan returned.

"Well with any luck those bandits will be tired out enough to be easy pickings," Baker replied.

"Hopefully not too easy," Lorne added, getting a chuckle from his lead before they split and headed for their respective planes.

Most of the training missions were flown with an instructor in the back, so getting to fly solo was a rare pleasure Evan had every intention of enjoying. Taking off like two choreographed birds Lorne and Baker headed their Hornets for the disputed territory over the fictitious Orangeland. Turbulence was heightened by the conditions until abruptly at 7000 feet they broke through the clouds into a blue sky.

"Trap line single group bullseye 0406 25000 ft estimate two contacts," Ground radar warned them they had company before they'd even taken over defence duty.

"Alpha five one trap line copy," Major Baker replied. "Let's relieve our friends Captain," he told Lorne.

"Bravo three one and three two this is Alpha five one and two preparing to take over the field," Lorne got on the radio to Drew.

"Bravo three two acknowledged," Drew replied.

Evan had his eyes on the HUD, looking for signs of the bandits on approach. That's why he didn't realise at first that there was an unexpected drama unfolding below him.

"Bravo three two ... I've got a slight problem here," Drew's voice was calm but Evan knew immediately it was more than minor.

Craning his head back, Lorne searched the sky, looking for Drew and Major Wilson's planes. When he spotted them a wave of dread and fear washed over him.

Major Wilson was circling high over a dark shape that was gyrating from side to side even as it dropped like a brick.

The Hornet was capable of flying slowly, nose high without stalling. But if you pushed it too far, let the power drop too low, sometimes the plane would respond by shifting into an uncontrollable pattern, slamming from side to side as it dropped straight down.

They called it the falling leaf. Imagine holding a leaf high and then letting it go, at the mercy of gravity ... Evan had done that as a kid too many times to count, and now he was seeing a version of it unfolding below him.

"Shit, shit, shit," he muttered, dropping altitude and shifting into a tight circling pattern without conscious thought.

"Hold back Captain Lorne," Baker's voice in his ear was firm and commanding, the tone one you didn't ignore.

"Yes Sir," Lorne complied, holding at 15000 feet but instinctively maintaining a simple circle flight path so that he had full view of the nightmare unfolding below him.

"Don't panic Drew," Major Wilson was speaking in a supportive, encouraging voice. "Take your hands off the controls."

"But," Evan could hear the fear in Drew's voice now and it had him tensing, the mission forgotten.

"Listen carefully Captain," Wilson interrupted. "I know it feels like you're out of control but you have to trust your aircraft now ... take your hands off the controls." He paused for a moment and then continued. "Now keep your eyes on the HUD. What's your current air speed?"

"100 knots," Drew reported back.

"Keep watching it," Wilson ordered. "When you hit 180 knots you take the controls back and fly that plane straight back up. You got that?"

"Yes Sir," Drew seemed to take something from Major Wilson's calm certainty.

To Lorne it seemed like the space around him was frozen in time even while below him Drew's Hornet appeared to be plummeting towards the ground at high speed.

"This is insane," he muttered under his breath.

"You okay Captain?" Major Baker asked him. He'd kept them distant from the other pair but allowed Lorne to follow the drama down, knowing there was no way he'd get Evan to just fly out of there without knowing that Drew was safe.

"Yeah but I'm not the one dropping like a stone ... Sir," Lorne replied grimly.

"Keep it calm," Baker urged him. "You know the physics. It can take 10,000 feet before there's enough speed to break out of the falling leaf."

"I'm not sure Drew's got that much altitude Sir," Evan couldn't help the fear that leaked out of his voice.

"Major Wilson is there Evan," Baker reminded him that Drew wasn't alone, even though he was flying solo. Lorne knew what he was trying to saying without being explicit. If there was a danger that Drew was going to run out of air before he could correct the problem Wilson would be ordering him to eject.

From frozen everything went into overdrive abruptly when Major Wilson spoke suddenly. "Eject," he ordered firmly.

Lorne swallowed hard, eyes tracking Drew's plane which was still falling erratically, searching for the evidence that he'd done as ordered. He was tempted to switch to upside down flight so he could see better but knew that Major Baker would have a hit if he tried. He'd have to make do with craning his head over his right shoulder as he continued a tight circle that was slowly shaving off precious feet of altitude.

"Did you hear me Captain?" Wilson demanded moments later.

"I'm almost there," Drew returned. "125 knots. I can do this."

"You don't have time," Wilson's voice was urgent now. "Eject ... _now_."

"You heard him Captain Rider," Major Baker had the second in command voice down pat. "Follow orders and eject."

Evan's heart was beating triple time as he waited. Looking at his own HUD wasn't reassuring. They'd followed the other pair down and were now at 10,000 feet ... which meant that Drew and Major Wilson were about to crash through the hard deck past 7000 feet.

"147 knots," Drew reported, his tone determined.

"Talk to him Evan," Major Baker said.

Lorne wasn't sure he'd even be able to speak – he felt almost sick with the adrenalin and fear coursing through him and a headache hammered at the back of his eyes as he grimly repressed a host of personal memories and emotions before they could take hold.

"Drew," he said in a low tone. "Don't do this."

"I've got time," Drew tried to sell it to his friend.

"Yeah, I bet that's what my Dad thought too," Evan shot back, his voice suddenly hard. "Right up until the point he realised he didn't and ejected into the dirt in front of thousands of spectators. Now press the damned button!"

The dark shape of Drew's plane continued to gyrate as it fell but its pilot was no longer on board. As Evan watched, the chair shot rapidly up from the top of the falling Hornet, the parachute bursting out moments later.

Time sped up again ... to Lorne it seemed Drew wouldn't have time to get clear of 32 million dollars worth of technology and metal determined to make it's lasting mark on the landscape.

And then abruptly it was over ... thirty seconds of intensity that had felt ten times longer to Lorne culminating in one final moment.

The Hornet crashed into the ground with an explosion of dirt that was visible even from their altitude, followed moments later by the tiny white umbrella shape that was Drew's parachute touching down to earth.

Evan wasn't aware of Major Baker calmly radioing in to base Drew's location, getting the rescue crews always on standby out to the site with all possible haste. Instead he was fixed on that point below ... he'd almost lost a friend that day, just as he'd lost his father 16 years before. The similarities were disturbing in a way that had him feeling cold and disjointed from reality.

"Captain." The tone of Baker's voice hinted that perhaps that wasn't the first time he'd tried to get Evan's attention.

"Sir," he startled abruptly, coming back to the present, lucky that even in his mental distraction he had been flying his plane, although hardly with the attention and respect it deserved.

"Let's get back to base," the Major ordered, tipping a wing to turn his plane towards home.

Wordlessly Evan followed suit, completing the flight home in silence. Major Wilson dropped in to fly formation on Evan's other side, the three planes gliding in to land without further incident.

Evan had never moved so fast to complete post flight tasks ... he was out of the cockpit and halfway across the tarmac and would have hitched a ride out to the crash site if Major Baker hadn't stopped him.

"No," Baker said firmly. "We wait ... let the experts do their job."

"Yes Sir," Evan said reluctantly, letting himself be led to the 410 squadron main office. Thankfully it was deserted since his had been the last flight of the day. Glad not to have to put on his facade for the time being, Lorne knew it wouldn't last. The gossip machine on base was very efficient – as soon as the others heard they'd be congregating, demanding information he didn't have.

The waiting was unbearable. Lorne paced the small space intently ... five paces to the wall of open lockers where all the pilots kept their helmets, five paces to the windows, five paces to the duty officers desk. Evan did the circuit repeatedly, determinedly keeping his eyes away from the empty locker space where Drew's helmet usually resided.

Major Wilson and Major Baker settled in for the silent wait too, the paperwork and other required tasks after such an incident held over until the outcome was known.

Evan was the first to spot the rescue vehicle returning to base, making its way across the runway towards them. He was up and out the door before anyone could stop him, running until he was only a few paces away. He halted, breathing hard as he watched the four wheel drive intently.

The passenger door opened and Andrew Rider emerged, holding himself carefully in a way that suggested he'd hurt something if he moved too quickly. He looked pale and weary as well but in all other respects was alive and well.

The feeling of relief that swept over Lorne was intense but all too quickly got swamped by other, less pleasant emotions. Evan looked at his friend for a moment, not sure what he could say that wouldn't open a crater of history he didn't want to explore.

Drew met Evan's eyes as he walked closer, attempting a classic Easy smile that fell just a little flat. He watched as his friend struggled with his emotions, knowing the afternoon had been just as hard for Evan as it had been for him. When Evan turned and strode away without a word, quickly disappearing back into the main office Drew was set to follow.

"Give him time Captain," Major Baker, standing only a few steps away drew his attention. "Evan has history as well as your little stunt today to work through."

"I know," Drew replied, frowning as he looked again towards the entrance to 410 squadron.

"He'll come around," Baker reassured the younger man. "In the mean time, let's get you checked out by the medics and then debriefed," he suggested, putting a hand to Drew's shoulder to get him moving. As they walked to the main office, the Major smiled. "By the way – nice to have you back here in one piece."

"Thank you Sir," Drew smiled back.

"We'll send you the bill another day," Baker joked, chuckling as Drew held onto his smile with difficultly. Andrew knew the other man was joking but ditching a 32 million dollar asset of the Canadian forces wasn't something you lived down in a lifetime ... or more.

oOo

Wanting to avoid anywhere too public, Evan moved quickly through the main building and out the other side. The Hornet hangar was large and at that time of the day staffed only with a couple of maintenance people charged with bedding down the last few planes used that day. There was a balcony of sorts spanning one end of the hangar with metal stairs leading up. From up there it was possible to see an entire F-18 in one go, getting a much needed perspective on the big picture that couldn't be achieved from the ground.

Lorne almost ran up the stairs, slumping down to rest his back against the wall, his head on his raised knees. All he needed to do was organise the jumble of thoughts in his head back into some semblance of order, get his game face firmly back in place, and he could return to his job.

"Right," he muttered, rubbing hands over his face impatiently. "Because that's always _really_ easy in practice."

Dropping his head back against the wall Evan closed his eyes, letting the thoughts come. Was that what it had been like for his Dad, that feeling of invincibility, that surety that he was in control? Had he felt the same fear and panic Evan had felt at the moment he'd realised Drew wasn't going to pull up in time?

Had the people who'd witnessed the death of his father felt that same horror mixed insanely with the ridiculous hope that everything would work out okay – up until the moment when it hadn't and the shock had slammed into him forcefully?

Had Jonathon Lorne regretted his choices in those moments when he'd realised what they would cost him? Would he give back the thrill, the joy of flying if it meant he could be spared that ending? Evan suspected the answer would be no, just as it would be if he asked Drew the same question. He felt the anger bubbling inside – at his Dad and his friend and at himself too because he knew, deep down, that he was no different.

"Enough!" he pressed his palms to his eyes, intent on stopping himself from thinking things he couldn't change.

He'd never talked about how he'd felt when his Dad died. At the age of ten he'd become the man of the house and in his child's eyes men of the house didn't cry. They didn't complain and they didn't talk about things that couldn't be changed. It galled him to admit at the age of 26 that he'd never shifted his views on that, even when he'd reached adulthood and been out on his own.

"You okay?"

Evan looked towards the stairs, seeing John Jones standing a few steps down, his expression concerned.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Lorne replied blandly.

"Oh I don't know," John took the remaining steps, coming to sit next to his friend. "Maybe because you just witnessed Drew cratering an F-18 almost too late to eject. I don't care who you are – that's gotta bother you a little."

"But he's okay, right?" Evan realised he hadn't checked Drew's condition after seeing that he appeared to be okay.

"Yeah," John said reassuringly. "He's pretty sore – probably won't be able to move tomorrow – but he'll make a quick recovery and be back to annoying you before you know it." Letting that sink in for a moment, the oldest rookie continued. "I heard about your Dad," he admitted. "How come you never mentioned it yourself?"

"Can we not do this now?" Evan requested impatiently, intent on avoiding the question.

"Sure," John agreed lightly. "I just wanted to make sure you knew that if you wanted to talk about it – especially after what almost happened to Drew today – any one of us would listen."

"I know," Evan sighed, rubbing a hand to his forehead as he shot a look John's way. "It's not something I talk about ... even within my family. I was just thinking before that I never even talked to my Mom about it."

"Maybe you should have," John suggested.

"She had enough trouble dealing with her own grief, without me lumping her with more," Lorne shrugged. "The more time that went by ... the less likely it seemed we'd ever talk about it."

"You're a different person now," John pointed out. "And maybe she can handle a lot more than you think she can."

"Maybe," Evan agreed quietly.

"Do you want me to call Steph?" John asked suddenly.

"No!" The sharp word was out of Evan's mouth before he could call it back. Taking a calming breath he tried again. "No thanks – I'll call her later. She probably knows everything by now anyway."

"Probably," John agreed, frowning slightly but refraining from pointing out that Evan might have looked to his girlfriend for support, given the difficult day he's suffered through.

They sat in silence for a few moments before John roused himself, getting up and looking down at Lorne. "We're going to the officer's club," he said. "Got plenty to celebrate tonight. See you there?"

"Later," Evan promised. "I think I'll sit here for a bit longer."

"Sure," John hesitated for a moment before nodding. Taking the steps two at a time he quickly disappeared from sight, leaving Evan alone with his thoughts again.

Lorne returned to resting his head against the wall, closing his eyes tiredly. Rather than think about the day's events instead he turned his mind to the past, unwrapping the few memories he had of his Dad like treasured keepsakes. He wasn't even sure anymore if they were actual memories of events or just scenes he'd constructed from people telling him about them. It didn't really matter either way – they were still strong enough to have him swallowing back his emotions.

Sitting in the cockpit behind his Dad as he took his only son on a joy ride through the sky.

Jonathon Lorne whooping gleefully as he sent the plane spinning and looping, a seven year old Evan giggling as much at his Dad's antics as he was in enjoyment.

Sitting in front of an old chalk board as his Dad drew diagrams to explain the aerodynamics behind some of the patterns flown by the Blue Angels and thinking that his Dad must be the smartest man on the entire planet.

As he sat there thinking about the man who'd shaped his life as much by not being there as he had by planting the seeds of flight in a young boys heart Evan came to a very simple and yet profound conclusion. As much as it had hurt to lose his Dad, it was one of those meant to be events – because his Dad had _needed_ to be who he was, just as Evan needed to follow his dreams despite knowing that some of them brought back painful memories for his Mom.

He would have preferred to reach that level of understanding without first witnessing an almost carbon copy of the past – thankfully _without_ the painful conclusion. Especially since he now owed Drew an apology for bailing without a word.

Dragging himself back to his feet, Evan stifled a groan. _And_ he'd have to put up with the curiosity and probable questions – even without someone spilling the beans on his past, Lorne had let the cat out of the bag himself when he'd mentioned it while trying to get Drew to eject. That meant it was on the tape which meant everyone would be hearing it when they did the officers review.

"Great," he muttered darkly, dusting off his pants. There was nothing he could do about it now ... he could attempt to gloss over it with his usual deceptive openness but he suspected that wasn't gonna fly this time. "Time to face the music," he thought, jogging back down the steps and heading for the door.

As he did he realised he'd forgotten to ask John if Orangeland had survived it's day of attacks. Hopefully it had, and in much better shape than Drew or Evan. Not that it mattered because the two would have to repeat ACT8 as soon as Drew was up for it. "_That'll be interesting_," Lorne thought with a faint smile.

**Authors Note:**

I've made some minor changes to previous chapters to fix that error I made with the F-16 ... now Lorne was a test pilot for NASA FRC for longer, rather than serving at Aviano base first. It's minor but apologies for the stuff up. Also, the second half of this chapter got eaten by my computer in a weird saving incident (I saved it multiple times and they all disappeared into some mysterious anti-save dimension) - I cried, got over it, rewrote it and of course think the first version was better but I got there in the end! One more chapter to go. Finally, the usual acknowledgements to Jetstream and wikipedia without which I'd have to make up a hell of a lot more stuff that wouldn't be anywhere near as interesting. Oh sorry, one more thing. The quote I attribute to Evan's Grandfather is something _my_ Granddad used to say ... *sighs* I miss him. Anyway - thanks for reading, hope you enjoy!


	8. Bombshell

**Chapter 8: Bombshell**

Training to be a fighter pilot was a serious business but sometimes ... well, sometimes it was a little bit funny too.

Drew and Lorne had caught up on the last ACT mission, defended Orangeland after a two day break where both of them were strongly urged – translation _ordered_ - to speak to the base psychologist. Evan didn't really mind too much ... the guy was a professional and Lorne was smart enough to reveal as much detail as was needed for honesty and sincerity without needing to dig too deeply into wounds that were finally starting to heal without the intervention of a third party. The man had finished the session by encouraging Evan to speak to Drew and he'd agreed that he would.

Drew himself appeared to have come through the whole thing with ease, despite the new call sign he'd been dubbed with. _Crater_. Turns out you _could_ change your call sign, but only if you were dumb enough to do something worse than what had earned you the first one.

The review of his actions had determined the falling leaf had occurred because of a low but usually acceptable speed and an abrupt gust of wind that had combined to send the aircraft out of control. If Drew had been going faster or the wind had been not quite as swift then it wouldn't have happened. The official ruling that came down a week later said accident - a welcome relief to everyone because no one wanted to see Drew ousted for such a bizarre set of circumstances coming together at the wrong time. When the base commander said that Drew was now the property of the Canadian government, that he owed them so much it'd take the rest of his life to pay back the debt he wasn't sure it was entirely a joke. 32 million dollars was a scary number and he hoped like hell there wasn't a number cruncher somewhere docking his pay every week and keeping account of how much he still owed.

Major Baker himself had briefly filled everyone in on the small slice of Lorne's history he'd revealed as he'd argued for Drew to press the ejection button. The way everyone just nodded, hardly paying Evan any more attention than usual said they'd probably already talked it through before the debrief. More than likely John had warned them all off – after all, none of them would have known Evan's history if he hadn't felt compelled to use it get Drew to save himself.

Of course, that unspoken pact didn't apply to Drew ... he'd already known about the fate of Jonathon Lorne – not that Evan knew that – and he'd heard the torment in Evan's voice, up in the air ... _seen_ it on the other man's face before Lorne had walked away without a word. There was no way he could just let that go, even if Lorne seemed quite content to do so.

"Evan ... you got a minute?" Drew stood in the open door of the study room in the early evening a week after their second mission over Orangeland. He'd given Evan a few days to approach him but since that didn't seem like it was going to happen, was taking matters into his own hands. The only other person present was Neil Somerton and he very studiously bent his head over his books, ignoring the sudden tension in the room.

"Ah ...," Evan looked up, saw the determination on Drew's face, and sighed. "Sure, okay," he conceded, getting up and following the other man down the corridor.

Drew chose one of the empty classrooms, waiting until Evan took a seat before closing the door behind them. "I already knew about your Dad," he began without ceremony, "before last week I mean."

"And?" Evan frowned, wondering how but not wanting to ask. He was seeing the conversation as being _for_ Drew, not him, and let his friend guide things where he needed them to go. Lorne had known Drew had things on his mind, things he wanted to say ... Evan just wasn't sure he wanted to hear them, especially if any of it was about thanking him.

"And ...," Drew floundered for a moment, "that doesn't bother you?"

"It's all public record," Evan shrugged. "Anyone could have read the news reports for themselves – if they knew where to look." He met Drew's eyes intently. "I wasn't actively hiding what happened ... it's just not something I'm accustomed to talking about. And I _never_ wanted an easy ride or any favours just because my Dad was killed in action."

"I can understand that," Drew agreed. "I wouldn't have deliberately dug for information about your past ... it was Steph's Uncle Jimmie – he still knows some people 'in the business' and asked about you. Jimmie only told me because he thought it would help me get over the flying in the dark thing."

"It doesn't matter," Evan said. "If that's what you're worried about, forget it. I'd have gotten around to telling you the story eventually ... you know, in a few years." He smirked, sure Drew knew him well enough to see the humour in that truth.

"I'm sorry," Drew abruptly shifted the conversation on. "Most of what happened last week is starting to feel a little blurry but ... I know I wouldn't be standing here right now if you hadn't been up there with me -,"

"Please don't do the gratitude thing," Evan interrupted, his expression pained. "You'd have worked it out on your own in time."

"Would I?" Drew shot back. "I think you know that's not true ... I bet you've done plenty of research on pilots ejecting, just like you learned aerial manoeuvres and got yourself a seat for Hornet training. You more than anyone else here would understand the headspace you get into when you're faced with the real prospect of ejecting. The reluctance to just quit, the fear, the huge $ signs flashing at the back of your mind ... that and the delusional certainty that it's really not as bad as your lead is making out. Time went all weird for a while there too – I knew intellectually that it's seconds rather than minutes for a plane falling like that but at the time those seconds felt long enough to go to the moon and back. Without your brutal reminder of what happened to your Dad I _would_ have stuck it out longer and then who knows what would have happened. Even if I had ejected it might have been too late ...,"

"Just like it was too late for my Dad?" Evan finished.

"Yeah," Drew shifted uncomfortably. "So even though I know you don't want to hear it I've gotta say it anyway." He looked at Evan intently. "Thank you ... you dug into wounds that are still pretty painful to help me, and ah ... I appreciate it."

"Whatever," Evan said ungraciously, eyes twinkling at Drew's almost offended expression. Relenting he shrugged. "It was all heat of the moment Drew ... I'm just glad I had something that got you thinking clearly again." He paused for a moment and then grimaced slightly. "I should probably apologise for that walking away without a word thing. I _was_ relieved to see you get out of that truck in one piece but I was also mad as hell about the entire thing ... not your fault though."

"And now?" Drew asked curiously.

"Now I know you've gotta be what you are," Evan said simply. "Even if it means you end up like my Dad, God forbid. If I did help you up there it was more his doing than mine ... I reckon he'd be proud of that."

"He'd be damned proud of you," Drew added insistently.

"Yeah," Evan smiled with a touch of sadness. "So, are we done here?" he asked. "No other meaning of life things you want to get off your chest?"

"Have you spoken to Steph?" Drew took the invitation as sincere even though he knew Lorne had only been jesting.

"Aww, come on," Evan folded his arms across his chest defensively. "What is it with everyone's interest in my love life?!"

"Is that what it is ... a _love_ life?" Drew watched the fleeting look of almost panic that swept over his friends face.

"Steph and I both know what it is," Lorne said dismissively, not wanting to talk about it.

"So ... not quite in touch with _all_ your inner demons then," Drew commented with a knowing look.

"Hey, it took me 16 years to get a little resolution on my Dad," Evan shot back. "Give me a break here."

"Fine," Drew nodded. "As long as you know you can talk to me when you need to ... preferably _before_ you fuck the whole thing up."

"When you've got more than a few casual encounters to talk about you can start handing out relationship advice," Evan suggested pointedly.

Knowing he wasn't getting anything more from his friend that day, Drew let himself be drawn into a teasing debate on his current philosophy of dating.

Evan had known he had a tough decision looming as the last weeks of the course approached. He wasn't ignoring it or avoiding it – he genuinely hadn't known what he was going to do about Steph once his time at Cold Lake was done. What had started as a casual relationship had shifted and blurred around the edges. There was real feeling there ... on his side and probably hers too. Now, after the almost end of Drew, after coming to the realisation that he was more like his father than just his appearance, Evan knew what he needed to do. He just wasn't sure how to do it ... or when.

oOo

So, back to the funny side. They were on week 30 of the training, only 7 weeks to go, and it was time for them to learn about air to air refuelling. It was a necessary requirement for all fighter pilots – they had to have the capability to fill up and go on the go. Without it their flying range and time were severely hampered and in a live combat situation that was a handicap no military force could afford to carry.

At the first briefing, when the rookies saw just how a refuelling was done ... how it _looked_ ... the innuendoes made perfect sense. They called it getting a poke, putting the thing in the thing, or for the more circumspect amongst them 'tanking'. There were probably more lurid references than that but no one had mentioned them in front of the rookies ... yet.

Lorne sat in the classroom watching a video of an F-18 refuelling and thought that it was not unlike a mating ritual. Cast the huge Boeing 707 – modified to be a flying gas station – in the role of alluring female, trailing her hose with the basket at the end to entice her prey. Then cast the Hornet as the male needing to demonstrate his abilities in the air to be granted the right to 'get some'. The 'pop out' drogue on the F-18 only reinforced the mating ritual idea – the red phallic like implement literally rose from the bonnet of the plane at an angle that would challenge anyone to see it as anything other than an eager male very excited by the presence of the right female.

All jokes aside, refuelling in the air was something every pilot had to master, and they all had stories about it. Even on paper it was one of those things that sounded almost inconceivable. Get closer than 50 feet to a huge jet at an altitude of 18000 feet and then line up the drogue to hit a basket about the size of your head at just the right angle while doing speeds in excess of 250 knots. Not only did you have to be able to do it on a peaceful clear day but you also had to do it at night, in rough weather and in hostile skies.

Luckily for the rookies the morning of their first refuelling flight was of the peaceful and calm variety. As Lorne gathered his gear and headed out to the F-18, Major Baker acting as his instructor for the mission walking beside him, he cast his thoughts to the sky. Somewhere up there a Boeing 707 tanker circled, heavy with fuel, manned by an American crew also on a training mission.

Evan was flying the first of two missions for the day, the rookies going in groups of threes. Aside from himself, Neil and John were also flying the first mission, all three throwing each other a thumbs up unspoken 'good luck' before getting into their planes.

The first step, getting up to 18000 feet to rendezvous with the tanker, was second nature now and passed without a hitch. They had radar contact with the tanker before they spotted her circling the skies.

"Scepter three five, alpha five one," Major Baker announced their presence.

"Alpha five one, sceptre three five. Go ahead."

"Requesting to join," Baker replied. Lorne was up first to attempt the refuel and didn't mind admitting, even just to himself, that he was more than a little nervous.

"You are clear to join to the left observation," the tanker crew advised.

"Copy," Baker confirmed. Switching to an in jet channel he continued. "Okay Lorne ... you're up. Make me proud."

"I'll give it my best shot Sir," Lorne replied.

Hand clasped firmly around the stick he powered forward until he was close enough to request contact. The tanker was big and it punched a big hole in the air – the turbulence coming off the wings could be deadly if you approached at the wrong angle. Do it right and with an F-18 – fast and powerful – the ride should be relatively smooth. Do it wrong and you could get sucked into a collision – and unlike the Hornet, the guys in the tanker didn't have ejection seats.

"Scepter three, alpha five one requests pre-contact, left hose," Lorne spoke confidently.

"Five one, you're cleared pre-contact left hose." The tanker had fuel indicator lights that told the refuelling pilots when it was safe to approach. Red meant hang back, and yellow – the colour the lights went once Evan got confirmation from tanker control, meant he was good to begin fuelling.

Lorne acknowledged the confirmation, flying close and getting the plane stabilised just back of where he needed to be. He could feel the vibration of airflow off the tanker – its wake turbulence – but quickly adjusted. His drogue was extended, the hose and basket looming up in his front window. It was time to do the business.

"Alpha five one request wet contact left hose," he said.

"Contact on the left hose," the tanker controller returned.

Evan had studied up – he knew the secret of threading this particular needle was to not look at the basket and drogue. Instead he flew a reference off the wing, taking the odd peek at the basket but trusting that in lining the entire plane up right he'd be exactly where he needed to be. Applying a little right rudder and then a little more power he had the satisfaction of seeing the drogue and basket connect smoothly.

"Five one has contact," the tanker controller confirmed.

Pushing it forward so that the line was pushed back into the tanker a little, Lorne saw the fuel indicator lights switch to green, meaning he was taking on fuel. That was the point at which a rookie could lose the connection – you had to switch from flying a reference to flying formation on the tanker again. If you didn't, you'd lose the basket and have to back off and do the whole thing again.

Evan didn't make that mistake. Flying off the tanker he watched his gas gauge climb steadily upwards ... taking on a hundred pounds of fuel before his tank was full and the basket disengaged. The whole thing had taken less than forty seconds ... which was a marvel in itself.

"Nice job," Major Baker congratulated him as he broke formation on the tanker and dropped back to join his class mates. "Your first poke," he added, the chuckle evident in his voice. "They say you never forget your first time."

"I'm sure that's true Sir," Evan returned, avoiding the obvious innuendo.

His part done, Lorne got to hang back and watch first Neil and then John do the same thing. Neil did it in two attempts, John first time although he had to disconnect and go again when the fuel sprayed across his cockpit, obstructing his view. It happened from time to time and was a good lesson for all three rookies on the various dramas of air to air refuelling. For Evan, watching the others take their turns was fascinating and impressive and a real statement of human endeavour and engineering. Tracking the tanker across the sky he felt again the joy and certainty that he was in the right place doing exactly what he should be doing.

When they were done, Major Baker thanked the American tanker crew. "We really appreciate you guys coming north for us," he said. "Thanks a lot, take care."

"No problem," the tanker controller returned. "You guys have a good flight."

They'd mastered air to air refuelling and extended the range of their flight capability from 1200 miles to virtually any combat theatre in the world. It was a big step forward ... in skill and towards the end of the course.

oOo

"Have you invited your family yet?" Drew asked Evan at lunch one day. It was week 33 and they were preparing to begin the last big challenge of the course. Live ordinance ... strafing and bombing.

"To what?" Lorne was distracted, half his attention on the manual in front of him. He was reading up on the specs for enemy tanks they'd potentially have as targets during live combat. Although they'd been taught to 'dog fight' more often than not F-18 contributions to a war effort were about supporting troops on the ground by taking out threats from the air. Operation Desert Storm – the US land and air campaign in the Persian Gulf war – was a classic example of that. The coalition flew over 100,000 sorties, dropping 88,500 tons of bombs and widely destroying military and civilian infrastructure in Iraq. That was the mainstay of a fighter pilots life and they had to be prepared for precision strikes on designated targets.

"You're joking right?" Drew said incredulously, breaking further into Lorne's concentration.

Looking up, Evan saw the others all watching him with varying degrees of disbelief. "Sorry – did I miss something?" he asked with a frown.

"_Graduation_," Cade said pointedly.

"That's still four weeks away," Evan pointed out. "Aren't we counting our chickens a little too early here?"

It wasn't an idle statement. Major Baker himself had told them of a guy on his course who'd thought to coast to the finish and ended up failing only three missions away from graduation. It could happen – it _had_ happened.

"What happened to Mr Optimism?" John asked with a smirk.

"I'm just saying ...," Evan trailed off with a shrug. "Okay ... graduation. What about it?"

"You inviting your family to come up here?" Drew restated his original question.

"Ah ...," Lorne hesitated. The question didn't surprise him – he'd been thinking about it since the instructors had explained that traditionally the rookies had members of their families come to Cold Lake to be present for the last mission. Since Drew's almost accident Evan had vowed to be a little more open with his friends – and here was the first time he could put that into practice. "To be honest I don't think my Mom would come ... she hasn't been on a military base since my Dad's accident."

"She didn't want you to be a pilot?" John asked curiously.

"Not exactly ... she wasn't thrilled I followed in my Dad's footsteps even though he'd laid the foundations long before he died," Evan admitted. "We kind of have an unspoken agreement – I don't put her in the tough position of having to say no and we don't talk about it."

"What about your sister?" Drew asked.

"Hey, invite her ... she's _hot_," Cade flushed when he realised what he'd said. "I mean you should have _someone_ here and she seemed like a really nice girl," he tried to recover.

"Well I'm sure Elaine will be flattered to hear that," Evan said with a smirk. "I'll invite her – as long as we're clear that none of you are anywhere near good enough for her." He said it with a straight face but the twinkle of amusement in his eyes said he wasn't serious ... at least not completely.

"Hey – back at you!" Neil retorted, referring to _his_ two sisters.

That sparked a teasing conversation that shifted attention away from Lorne, just the way he liked it. He might have decided to share a little more but that only went so far ...

oOo

Forty five minutes from 410 squadron was a 90 square mile piece of land known as the Jimmy Lake weapons range. Scattered across the landscape were battered targets – old trucks and tanks painted bright orange and red, bearing the evidence of previous training missions.

Being the guy who helped the guys on the ground required a fighter pilot to have absolute precision ... their job was to become nothing less than airborne sharp shooters because the slightest deviation could be the difference between helping and accidentally killing someone on the ground. The only way to get there was to practice.

The Hornet could carry an impressive arsenal in a variety of configurations depending on the mission objectives. They'd conducted simulated firing of missiles in prior missions using all three missile types carried by the F-18. The AIM-7 Sparrow medium-range semi-active radar homing air-to-air missile, brevity code Fox 1; the AIM-9 Sidewinder heat-seeking, short-range, air-to-air missile, brevity code Fox 2; and the AIM-120 AMRAAM medium-range, active radar homing air-to-air missile with all-weather, beyond-visual-range capability, brevity code Fox 3. It was pretty clever really – the whole brevity code idea – a multiservice set of tactical codes that allowed communication of complex information with just a few words. You announce Fox 3 on approach to an enemy plane in a dog fight and anyone listening knew you'd just fired an am-ram missile at the target.

The bombs used were a little less impressive ... MK82s, MK83s and MK84s all unguided, low-drag general purpose bombs, also called dumb bombs. They were the most common bomb used by the US and Canadian forces. Kitting them out with paveway guidance – precision avionics vectoring equipment – turned them into laser guided bombs which was much cooler but to Lorne's mind not quite as good as the missiles.

Of course you couldn't carry all of that for one run but the Hornet was a 'boys with toys' dream – missiles, bombs, and cannon guns clipping into place like a high tech meccano set. Evan had studied them all, their details easily slotting into place in his mind because it was all just that exciting. Sure, he knew what each weapon was ultimately for – take out an enemy on the ground and leave nothing but a crater behind. He was sure too that the severity of that would stay with him from the instance he dropped a real bomb on a live target. But in the lead up to their first live weapons mission the only thing Evan was really thinking about was that using live rounds and dropping real bombs on pretend targets would be the ultimate in war games.

Walking out across the tarmac the morning of the first mission, another clear day blessing the rookies, Lorne had his eyes fixed on the Hornet he'd be flying. It looked different ... deadly beyond its usual menacing facade because of the bombs clipped to the undercarriage of each wing. As Evan did his walk around he noticed that someone had written something in large chalked letters on one ... "Love's first." Laughing, he ran a hand lightly over the weapon, going through the additional checks required for carrying live ordinance before clearing the plane as ready to proceed.

To go with the bombs he had a Vulcan cannon mounted behind the radar. It looked like a Gatling gun and was a weapon that had been around since the dawn of time ... for a _reason_. It might be the most rudimentary of the weapons the F-18 could carry but in some cases was also the most effective.

The first part of the mission was a strafing run on a fixed target. It sounded impressive but was nothing more than the practice of attacking ground targets from low-flying aircraft. Their first target was a 20 by 20 flag they'd get one pass to fire at. Keeping score was a machine called a t-bar ... it recorded how many shot were fired through the fabric by picking up the sonic boom faster than sound bullets created when they went through.

"Take us to the range Captain," Major Baker instructed once they'd reached cruising altitude.

"Yes Sir," Lorne acknowledged, setting his heading for Jimmy Lake. Just over half an hour later they arrived. With the Major's instructions fixed firmly in his mind, Evan began his first pass.

Step one ... invert the plane for the start of the dive down. Why? Because a straight up dive created negative G's that would cause blood to rush to the head – the opposite of positive G's. Pilots called it red out and it was exceedingly painful and to be avoided at all costs. Flipping upside down gave you positive G's on the way down where all you had to worry about was the G-loc their flight suits had been designed to prevent.

Step one completed, Evan went straight into step two. Push to hit 510 knots while taking a 15 degree dive. That was the point when you had to sight on the target location ... even though it was a large target at ground level, from 2000 feet in the air it was practically microscopic. The HUD provided assistance in the form of a tiny symbol on screen called a pipper but that was all the help you'd get.

As Lorne closed rapidly on the target he righted the plane at the last possible moment and then focussed on step three ... lining up the pipper with the centre of the target. That's when you got to pull the trigger.

"Remember ... shoot, track and then pull away," Baker told him. "Make your application of trigger as smooth as possible."

Like every other gun in creation, technique was everything – particularly for a first time the rookies would have to contain their excitement because any kind of abrupt movement on the stick, like recoiling, would spray the bullets all over the place.

"Alpha five three, in hot," Lorne announced as he approached the target. Keeping his hand steady he squeezed with controlled force, his only motion being his finger on the trigger.

The shells left the Vulcan gun in a rapid burst of sound and motion ... Evan had to control the desire to flinch at the noise as well as the overwhelming urge to whoop like a cowboy. He'd been right – doing a live fire mission _was_ like the best kind of war game and had him feeling not unlike he had as a kid playing Strike Eagle Jet Sim on his computer.

Evan's bullets hit their destination at a rate of 100 rounds per second. Lorne tracked them to the target, ceasing to fire once he crossed the edge of the firing zone. Swooping low over the area he took the plane straight back up into the sky.

The last part was the hardest – waiting to hear from control whether you'd managed to hit the target.

"Line of fire was steady and straight," the on duty control officer radioed in a few moments later. "Five hits. Forty five rounds. Well done."

"Five hits?" Lorne repeated with a slight frown. From forty five rounds? Was that any good?

"Better than good, Lorne," Baker answered his unspoken question. "Just getting a straight line of fire is impressive for a rookie."

"Good to know Sir," Evan grinned, relaxed again. Now that he'd done his first strafing run he couldn't wait to do another one.

The second part of the day's mission was dropping a bomb on a designated target, an old tank that already bore the scars of past students. They'd be dropping the Mark 82 – with no internal guidance system it was like playing lawn darts with a hand grenade except the MK82 carried 200 pounds of explosives.

Circling back around Lorne craned his head, looking for the target. Spotting it he shifted flight path to begin a pass.

"Alpha five three visual," he announced that he had the target in sight.

As with everything else there was a set of prescribed milestones to help you get from circling the target to nailing it with a precision strike.

Fifteen miles out Lorne's radar marked the target in the HUD with a flashing diamond. At that point he rolled the plane to start his 45 degree dive inverted. The degree was important – too flat and the bomb would fall short, too steep and he ran the risk of flying into his own fire ball when it exploded. Holding that for a few moments he then turned the plane right side up again.

"Alpha five three, in hot," Lorne announced. Lining up the target marker and the velocity vector on the vertical line he then released his bomb. "Alpha five three off hot," he advised as he completed the dive and headed straight back up again.

"Let's see if we can spot her landing," Major Baker suggested. Lorne nodded, changing course to fly over the tank.

They saw the bomb hit the ground, the small ball of flame and a tower of dirt rising up to announce its arrival.

"Looks good," Baker said. "I think you nailed that sucker."

"That was ... awesome," Evan let his excitement at the successful mission colour his voice, not something he usually did but a first like that wasn't something you just shrugged off.

Back on base later that day it was high excitement amongst all the rookies. They'd all enjoyed the hell out of the mission and they couldn't wait to go up again. Strafing and bombing in an F-18 clearly _wasn't_ going to be something that brought anyone down.

oOo

In the end it was Steph who brought Evan's concerns about their relationship into the light. He'd been steadily more and more elusive in the weeks since Drew's incident, something she couldn't have failed to notice. Steph had to suggest dates a couple of times before she finally managed to pin him down one Friday night.

They went for drinks in the officer's lounge, much as they had on their first date. It was pleasant but Evan was distracted, eventually suggesting he walk her back to her room only a couple of hours after they'd arrived.

"Is everything okay?" she asked as they walked in the moonlit darkness.

"I guess," Evan replied, shooting her a glance before looking away.

"No it's not," Steph returned as they arrived at her door. Opening it quickly she turned and took his hand, pulling him inside after her. "Talk to me ... and don't tell me you're fine because I know you're not."

"You probably know everything already," Evan protested, slumping down in one her armchairs and rubbing a hand across his brow.

"But not from you," Steph tried to keep the accusation out of her tone, and the hurt that he'd gone through something difficult and hadn't sought her out for comfort.

"I'm sorry," Evan looked at her, noting the tense line on her shoulders and how stiffly she was holding herself.

"Do you want to end this?" she asked abruptly. Evan was silent for too long and she took that as answer enough. "You do! Because of what happened with Drew?"

"No!" Evan replied insistently. "I told you in the beginning that I wasn't looking for picket fences and forever after. I _know_ you weren't aware of all my reasons but I didn't give you false promises ... did I?" He watched her carefully, concerned and wary of her reply.

"No – you've been consistent the whole way through," Steph agreed sadly. "I let myself believe it was more ... because I ...," she stopped, taking a shaky breath.

"My Mom struggled just getting up in the morning for _months_ after my Dad was killed," Evan spoke in a low tone, leaning forward to take Steph's hands in his. "Every now and then I see her watching me and it's all there in her eyes – memories of my Dad and pain even so many years later, because he's not here with her. I grew up with that and I _swore_ to myself I'd _never_ be the cause of anyone feeling like that."

Steph kept her eyes trained on his, listening as he told her more about what made him tick than she'd learned in all the months of being his 'girlfriend'.

"When Drew almost went down ... when he didn't eject the instant Major Bond ordered him to I realised something else," Evan continued. "All these years a part of me has been angry at my Dad ... because he chose flying over his family, not just the job but in those final moments when _he_ left it too late. He chose the plane over us and it killed him. When Drew walked away without a scratch I was angry at him and at myself too."

"Why? It wasn't your fault," Steph pointed out in a soft voice.

"No," Evan agreed. "But when I thought about it I knew my Dad would have made the same choice even if he had _known_ how it would end up ... just like Drew would." He paused, his expression intent. "Just like _I_ would. That makes me a great candidate to be a fighter pilot but a shitty choice for those picket fences and two point five kids."

"And it doesn't matter that I love you anyway?" Steph almost whispered the words, looking down at their joined hands.

Evan thought for a moment before answering, ignoring the twinge of something almost like pain in his chest at her words. "It matters to me that there's more feeling here than I ever intended when we started out," he said carefully. "But ...," he trailed off.

"But it doesn't change your mind about what you want," she concluded sadly.

"No," he said simply. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Steph urged, trying to smile. "You've been nothing but honest with me Evan. It's my own stupid fault for buying into my own press." When Evan looked confused she explained. "Remember – _the rookie your Mom would most like you to fall in love with_," she quoted her own words.

"I thought I'd lived that one down," Evan teased gently.

"Not quite," Steph squeezed his hands before resolutely letting go and standing up. Evan followed suite, not sure what more he should say.

Stepping closer, Steph reached up and put her hands to either side of his face. On tiptoe she pressed a hard kiss to his lips and then stepped back again. "You need to go now," she said firmly.

"Are you ... okay?" he asked uncertainly.

"No," Steph said starkly. "But after I've had a good cry and kicked the wall a few times I will be." She smiled and Evan wasn't sure if she was serious or not. "Not now ... but sometime down the track ... I'd like it if we were friends again," she added lightly.

"Me too," Evan agreed, not really sure how likely that was going to be in practice. He'd hurt her ... completely unintentionally and despite every warning he'd repeated along the way about where he was heading. Did that mean he was off the hook for feeling responsible? Or was it something he should have known would happen, despite Steph's reassurances that she was comfortable with their caring but casual relationship?

"Stop thinking," Steph ordered. "I'm fine ... you're fine. And hopefully in a while we'll both look back on this fondly."

"I will," Evan promised. "I really am sorry Steph."

"Me too," her voice wobbled a little and Evan took that as his cue to leave her to handle things in her own way. He knew she wouldn't want him to see her cry ... and even if _she_ was okay with it Evan wasn't sure _he_ could handle that much emotion right then.

Putting a hand to her cheek, he stroked a thumb across it gently before leaning down and kissing her one final time. "Goodbye," he said in a low tone, turning quickly and heading for the door.

"Bye," Steph whispered, free to let the tears come once he'd disappeared from sight.

oOo

"How was your date?" Drew asked at breakfast the next morning.

"We broke up," Evan said abruptly.

"What?" Neil's chin almost dropped in surprise. "I thought you guys were great together."

"I'm only here for another year, 18 months tops," Lorne didn't want to share all the gory details but he knew some explanation would cut off further questions. "And we never meant for it to be permanent. Ending it was a mutual thing."

"And you're okay with that?" Drew frowned, looking for something hidden in Evan's careful facade.

"I'm okay with it," Evan confirmed, his tone and expression bland.

Drew didn't say anything else but Lorne could tell he didn't quite believe him. Evan _was_ comfortable with his choice even though a part of him still wondered whether he'd just made a colossal mistake. Years down the track when he was long done being a fighter pilot, if he got to the old and still alone stage would he look back and wonder whether Steph had been 'The One'? God he hoped not because there was no going back.

oOo

More live ordinance missions followed the first until abruptly they arrived at week 37 and were staring the finish line in the face. Nine months, 175 hours of ground school, and 50 missions in the F-18 Hornet all came down to one final mission.

It wasn't a tough one ... in fact it wasn't really a mission at all. The last time Cade, Neil, John, Drew and Evan went up in the F-18 as rookies all that was required of them was to do a formation fly pass over the base. It wasn't a tough mission ... but it didn't need to be because it wasn't _what_ they were doing that was important, it was _who_ was watching them do it. Parents, siblings, and family had come from all over the country to get just a small taste of what had kept their sons, brothers, nephews and grandsons so busy for so many months.

The main office was full to the brim – eager faces pressed close to the windows, eyes straining to catch sight of a loved one. For Lorne, catching a brief glimpse of Elaine as he made his way across the tarmac, it was bittersweet. He ran through his pre-flight checks like a pro, aware on the periphery of nine other men all doing the same thing. They all took off in quick succession, five almost fully qualified fighter pilots and five instructors, all flying solo.

There was joy and exhilaration in forming up ... Majors Baker and Bond in the middle lead, Drew, Lorne and Captain Reed forming the right side of a large V with John, Neil and Cade lining up on the left. Slotting into the middle trailing the lead instructors were Majors Wilson and Bickford.

It felt impressive in the air. Evan's heart was beating rapidly even as his mind turned to Elaine watching back on the ground. They flew as one, making a wide turn and then heading towards the base, flying low enough for their spectators to feel and hear the power of ten Hornets shooting by. Once they'd passed the base, individually each rookie rolled away to break formation, one after the other. All that was left was to turn around and land and they'd be fighter pilots for real.

Back on the tarmac there was a round of hand shaking and congratulations between trainees and instructors, those who'd gone up in the air with them and those who'd waited on the ground. They formed a group with the instructors standing behind them for the requisite group photo.

And then it was the families turn to share some of the limelight and excitement. Lorne was aware of the increase in noise as Cade, Neil, John and Drew were greeted by their parents and siblings. Elaine practically threw herself into his arms as she congratulated him.

"That was just ... thrilling," she exclaimed, stepping back and running her eyes over him as though she expected him to look different now he was a fighter pilot for real.

"Glad you got to see it," Evan replied, keeping his arm around her shoulders as he steered her over to one of the planes. "Want to take a look inside?" he offered.

Nodding, Elaine stood patiently beside him, listening as he gave her a run down on the Hornets attributes. "I'm sorry it's just me," she said softly, turning to watch the scenes still unfolding around them. "I think Mom really did want to come but she couldn't get away from school."

"Doesn't matter," Evan said simply, appreciating her efforts even though they both knew that wasn't entirely true. "I'm glad you're here and the rest of it I understand."

"She's proud of you," Elaine stated firmly. "So am I."

"Well thank you kindly Ma'am," Evan smiled. "Wanna come over and meet the guys again?"

"Okay," Elaine wrapped a hand around his arm as they started walking. "Are you sad it's over?" she asked curiously.

"You know what? I think I am," he admitted with a hint of surprise. "What you just saw is probably the last time we'll all fly together like that. You spend nine months living in such close quarters, going through what we've been through, and it forms bonds. I wouldn't have gotten through the whole thing so comfortably without them."

"You'll miss them," Elaine concluded.

"Sure," Evan agreed with a grin as they rejoined the main congregation. "Not everything," he added in a louder voice, noting when Drew turned to look at them curiously. "You remember Drew?" he asked Elaine, getting a nod in return. "He's a pain in the ass who likes the cold – won't miss _that_ at all."

"Hah, knowing my luck we'll end up stationed together," Drew shot back, directing a friendly smile Elaine's way.

"We'll find out tomorrow," John came over, shaking Elaine's hand lightly when Evan reintroduced her. "What did you think of the fly past?" he asked her.

"It was great," she smiled. "Exciting and ... _loud_."

"You should hear the noise from _inside_ the plane," Drew replied.

"Maybe one day I will," Elaine looked at Evan hopefully. "You do joy flights, right?"

"In an F-18?" his eyebrow rose sharply. "Not likely Sis. Besides, you'd be puking your guts up before I even had the chance to do anything interesting."

"Don't listen to him," John countered, holding out his elbow gallantly. "I'd take you up there ... if you're serious."

"That's very nice of you," Elaine took John's arm with a pointed look at Evan as if to say 'see – this is manners'. Evan just smiled, happy to see her getting on so well with his friends.

That continued into the evening and their official graduation dinner. It was mostly informal, the new graduates gathering with all the instructors, their partners and family to celebrate. The only official part of the event was each being called up to receive a certificate that said they'd survived 410 squadron and were fit to be let loose wearing the title of 'fighter pilot'.

"There's one final task I need to complete before you're all free to drink and be merry," Major Baker stood at the dais, acting as speaker for the night. He'd began the night with a short speech so they knew that wasn't his intent. "The Top Gun award," Baker announced. "Each course it's awarded to the rookie with the highest combined strafing and bombing scores. Now I _could_ try and build up the suspense but I think all the rookies know who's getting the award this year." Holding up the plaque he looked at Lorne. "Captain?" he said. "You wanna come up here and get this?"

Grinning, Evan put a hand over Elaine's and then jumped up, striding quickly to the front of the room.

"Congratulations son," Baker said, handing over the title with a firm hand shake and a fond slap on the back.

"Thank you Sir," Evan replied. Turning to face his classmates he held up the plaque, getting a round of applause. "This might have my name on it," he said in a louder voice, addressing the whole room, "but you don't get to the end of training by yourself. This is as much for me as it is for Cade, John, Neil and Andrew ... and for Marcus Price and Paul Merlin too. Since I'm up here anyway I'll take the opportunity to thank my fellow classmates ... you were all pains in the ass at times but I wouldn't have it any other way. You welcomed a Yankee interloper into your midst without complaining too loudly ... which can mean only one thing. I'm gonna have to be nice to every Canadian I meet for the rest of my career," Evan saw Drew laughing and grinned in return as he finished up. "But if they're anything like you guys that shouldn't be a problem."

Nodding to Major Baker again, Evan quickly walked back to his table and a proudly smiling Elaine. He wanted to thank Major Baker personally for his support and for giving him the chance to fly the F-18 but knew there'd be time once he'd found out where he was going.

It was a fitting end to nine months of continuous effort and unrelenting pressure. But as quickly as their last day had arrived it was done, and there was no time for vacations or reflection on what they'd achieved. The very next day they got their new orders.

Neil, John and Cade were all going to the 425 gun squadron in Baggotville, Quebec. Evan and Drew had both been assigned to the 409 gun squadron, located 300 feet across the tarmac from the 410. Lorne was staying in Cold Lake with Drew. He couldn't have asked for more, except for the others to also remain there which was never going to happen. When he reported for duty at his new post it all felt a little surreal but Lorne knew that within days he'd be feeling like he'd never worked anywhere else.

oOo

**Ten Years Later ...**

"_Love Lorne_?" the voice calling out too loudly had Evan turning with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. _It couldn't be_. He'd seen the latest transfer list and James Reed's name hadn't been on it.

"It is you!" the now Major laughed. "Evan "Love" Lorne himself. Thought you'd dropped off the Earth years ago. How the hell you been?"

Looking around with the futile hope that no one else had heard Reed's words, Evan had to smile. He moved forward and was enveloped in an enthusiastic trade of fond back slapping with someone he hadn't seen in almost ten years.

"What are you doing here?" Evan asked.

"Last minute reassignment," Reed replied. "Called to duty to help train -,"

"_Love_ Lorne?" Colonel Sheppard's amused voice interrupting them had Evan freezing in dismay. Damn!

"Sir?" Evan turned from Reed, going for confused innocence.

"Your call sign is 'Love'?" Sheppard's lips twitched in amusement.

"That's kind of irrelevant here, don't you think?" Lorne commented, hoping to head things off before anything else was said.

"Yes Sir," Reed said at the same time, straightening in the presence of a superior officer.

"Relax Major," John addressed both men at the same time. "So ... _Love_ ... what's the story behind that? Because I'm sure there is one!"

"You know call signs Sir," Evan dismissed. "They're usually made up by a bunch of guys looking for revenge and trying to be clever."

"So this is nothing more than a play on your last name?" Sheppard asked.

"Yes Sir," Evan said firmly, stepping back on Reed's foot when he scoffed in disbelief.

"Major?" Sheppard looked at Reed for an answer.

"That and the fact that Lorne was quite ... popular ... with the female population during training Sir," Reed said quickly. "And then there was the whole 'my girlfriend is an F-16' conversation ... as rumour had it."

"Colonel Sheppard doesn't need to hear the details," Evan said quickly.

"Maybe not, but _he's_ interested just the same," John said with a chuckle. "So you two trained together?"

"Major Reed was an instructor at Cold Lake," Lorne explained. The Colonel had seen his record so he knew Evan had done his fighter pilot training in Canada.

"Ah, so you were one of the guys _behind_ 'Love' getting that tag?" Sheppard shot Lorne a grin, clearly enjoying the chance to see him even a little flustered.

"Do you have a call sign Sir?" Lorne asked, hoping to turn the tables and crossing his mental fingers that it wasn't something cool like 'Maverick'.

"You know Major," John said. "You're right ... call signs aren't as important here on Atlantis. I'll leave you and your friend to catch up."

Evan thought he'd gotten through the worst ... Colonel Sheppard turned and took a couple of strides down the corridor but then he stopped, and turned back.

"'_Shep'_," John announced his call sign with a smirk, "for obvious reasons." He chuckled at the dismayed look on Evan's face that it wasn't more damning even as he turned back to Reed. "Major ... I expect you to fill me in on the full story about _Love_ here ... after you've settled. Welcome to Atlantis."

"Thank you Sir," Reed said, trying not to laugh.

"Carry on," John said, turning and continuing down the corridor.

As he watched the Colonel walk away, there was only one thought in Lorne's head. Even Atlantis hadn't been far enough away to escape his call sign.

Sometimes being a pilot really sucked!

**The End!**

**Authors Note:**

So there it is ... the end. I hope it lived up to expectations! One final thank you to the Discovery Channel in Canada for making such a fantastic series in Jetstream and to Kavan Smith for lending his voice to narrate it, thus inspiring me to write this story. There are a LOT of quotes included in this chapter, particularly in air cool pilot speak. I used wikipedia for quite a few things in this chapter, mainly to confirm that things like the missiles mentioned were actually around in 1997. I also found an excellent forum at www dot airliners dot net slash aviation-forums slash military that had an excellent discussion about refuelling which helped a lot with that part. I wasn't sure about the very last part of this chapter which I wrote way back after the first chapter ... so I may end up 'taking it back' if I find it messes up my plans for other stories. Apologies for any errors that made it into this chapter - it's VERY late here right now but I wanted to post tonight so it's all done.

Big thank you's to the people who've read and reviewed this story ... I need to mention Elaine and sb4ever here specifically because I couldn't reply directly. All the review comments helped motivate me to keep going with what was quite a difficult story to bring together.

The hopefully good news is that I have the next story in Lorne's background already written and ready to begin posting. I'll give you guys a few days break before I launch - it's called Grand Tour. While I'm posting that I'll be writing more Forlorn Hope.

I don't usually do this but if you liked this story please take the time to review this chapter ... it'd be nice to hear from you but also I'm keen to hear if I'm on the right track with my creation of Lorne's more detailed background. Thank you.


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